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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882862">Laughter Endures</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilya_Boltagon/pseuds/Ilya_Boltagon'>Ilya_Boltagon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blind Character, Canon-Typical Behavior, Disabled Character, Drama, Gen, Lalaith Lives, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:22:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilya_Boltagon/pseuds/Ilya_Boltagon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A 'What if' version of Túrin's story, looking at what would happen if Urwen Lalaith had lived, and was sent to Doriath along with her older brother. What will change in Túrin's dark fate, and what will remain the same? Stay tuned to find out!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beleg Cúthalion &amp; Túrin Turambar, Beren Erchamion/Lúthien Tinúviel, Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo/Melian, Nellas &amp; Túrin Turambar, Nellas &amp; Urwen Lalaith, Urwen Lalaith &amp; Túrin Turambar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/gifts">starlightwalking</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inwiste/gifts">Inwiste</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mornen/gifts">mornen</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lalaith whimpered, trembling with the cold even as she was nestled in Túrin's arms. Gethron and Grithnir, their guards and guides, who had led them from their home in Dor-Lomin to the very edges of the Elf-king's realm of Doriath, stood guard, even as the winter's chill left their lips and fingers blue. Túrin's hands and feet were numb, despite the blanket wrapped tightly round him and his sister, and his stomach growled like a wild beast, but his main concern was for his little sister. He'd given her most of the hard bread that Grithnir had presented to him some time ago- the last of their food, he had heard Gethron say, when he thought that Túrin and Lalaith slept.</p><p class="western">“H-how long t-til we get to the Elves, T-Túrin?” Lalaith managed to stutter out, her teeth chattering, her voice weaker than he had ever heard, except for that time, four years ago, when they had both been very ill.</p><p class="western">He pulled her yet closer to him, wishing with all his might that he had some way of reassuring her- it seemed like they had been wandering in these woods for weeks! A glance at Gethron and Grithnir, deep in whispered conversation some distance away, provided no help- the two older men looked anxious and as weary as Túrin felt. “We'll be there soon, Lalaith, I promise.” He crossed his fingers tightly, hoping it was true. Mother had sent him and Lalaith away from their home to keep them from becoming thralls of the wolf-haired thieves- he did not think she had intended them to starve or freeze in these woods!</p><p class="western">“W-will it b-b-be warm there?” Lalaith's hand slid into his, cold and stiff as a doll's.</p><p class="western">“Yes. We'll never be cold again. We'll be safe, and warm, and there will be more food than we could ever eat. And we'll be able to write to Mother.” At least, he hoped they would.</p><p class="western">Lalaith let out a soft giggle, the first time he had heard her laugh since their journey had taken an ill turn, and Túrin found himself grinning back.</p><p class="western">“Are you still going to be one of the Elf-king's knights?”</p><p class="western">Túrin nodded fervently. “I'm going to ride against the Enemy and get revenge for Father.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith's eyes shone. “What about me, w-what will I d-do?” Her voice still shook from the cold. “C-Can I be a knight too? I want to go on grand adventures like the Elf-king's daughter did, in the stories Father told us, remember?”</p><p class="western">“Maybe you will. We'll go on epic quests together!” Túrin, aged only ten (his birthday having passed sometime during their long cold journey, unmarked), with Lalaith just seven, saw nothing wrong with this vision of the future. “We'll be the greatest warriors the world has ever known!”</p><p class="western">That got another laugh from his sister, but abruptly, she stopped, her golden head whipping around, staring into the trees.</p><p class="western">“What is it?” But then Túrin heard it too, just as Gethron and Grithnir did. A hunting horn, higher and clearer than any he had heard before, echoing through the woods towards them. Gethron and Grithnir drew their blades, their movements awkward and stiff from the cold, preparing to defend their young charges in case this was some enemy.</p><p class="western">A tall figure with long silvery hair, armed with a great bow, seemed to Túrin to simply <em>appear</em> before them between one moment and the next, as if the very trees had conjured him. Seeing the four Mortals, obviously weak and in need of aid, he stepped closer, calling a greeting in a language unknown to Túrin, who tried to scramble to his feet, to face the newcomer and to shield Lalaith if need be, but his limbs would not obey him and he crumpled beside his sister, shivers wracking his body.</p><p class="western">Gethron approached the new arrival slowly, with his hands raised, speaking in halting Sindarin. The Elf, for now Túrin noted his pointed ears, nodded, then responded quickly, offering a drinking skin of some kind to Gethron, then Grithnir, both of whom thanked him profusely, before coming and kneeling beside Túrin and Lalaith, his keen eyes scrutinizing them, before offering first Lalaith, then Túrin, two small sips from the same skin.</p><p class="western">Heat flooded Túrin's body as if he had inhaled fire, and the cold vanished as if it had never been! Almost gasping, he lurched to his feet, instinctively reaching for Lalaith, who had sprung to her feet in the same instant, laughing and twirling as if caught in some manner of dance. She then curtsied politely to the Elf, blushing a little and greeting him shyly.</p><p class="western">Túrin supposed he ought to do the same, besides, this Elf was surely a warrior: perhaps he could learn from him? He added his own greeting, though he did not smile- it did not come easily to him, especially not around a stranger. Nonetheless, the Elf smiled approvingly at the two of them, before returning his attention to Gethron and Grithnir, leading them from the small clearing they had all but collapsed in, back into the woods, Gethron in front with the Elf, Túrin and Lalaith hand in hand, and Grithnir bringing up the rear.</p><p class="western">Soon enough, the small group of Edain were safely ensconced in a wooden hunting lodge, all four hastily wrapped in furs, while the Elf- Beleg, he had named himself- dispatched a message to the Elf-king Thingol, informing him of their presence and of their mother Morwen's request for the fosterage of her two children in Doriath. Food, drink and warm clothing was provided for them while they awaited the King's reply, although the clothing provided for the two children was far too large and had them both laughing at each other's appearances, in garments that all but drowned them.</p><p class="western">The warmth of the lodge, and having a belly full of food, made Túrin's eyes heavy, and he stifled a yawn. Lalaith, now sitting close at his side, echoed him, and let her golden head fall onto his shoulder. Her soft, even breathing as she drifted into sleep, lulled him into further relaxation, and before he knew it, his eyes drifted shut, his hand still entwined with his sister's. Whatever became of them now, here in Doriath, they would <em>always</em> be together. Father was lost, and Mother remained back at home. Lalaith was all the family Túrin had now, and he would never let her go.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lalaith skipped ahead into the sun-dappled forest clearing, humming happily to herself. Túrin followed close behind her, fancying himself a dark shadow to her ray of sunlight. Some weeks had passed since they had been welcomed into Menegroth and accepted as the fosterlings of King Thingol, but, aside from a long and very dull introduction to the court and the lengthy feast that had followed, they had, for the most part, seen little of the king or queen. Servants tended them, and they had been given leave to explore the warren-like series of caves that was the kingdom of Menegroth, or to venture into the woods outside, but Túrin had no doubt they were watched- he could feel hidden eyes on him wherever they went, though Lalaith did not seem to mind when he had mentioned it to her- “They're only there to keep us safe, Túrin!”</p><p class="western">He thought that if that were the case, the watcher or watchers should show themselves, but did not pursue the matter with his sister- he had no wish to upset her. She seemed to be happy enough here, but then, Lalaith could be happy almost anywhere. For his own part, Túrin thought he'd prefer it if everyone here did not constantly speak in Sindarin, a language he and Lalaith knew little of- being excluded from almost all conversation made him feel awkward, and wary. Lalaith, naturally, was trying to learn the Elves' language through what she overheard, but had had little success.</p><p class="western">“Do you think the messengers will return today?” Lalaith's voice broke into his thoughts, and he jogged to catch up with her, although he didn't know what to say. King Thingol had sent word to Mother of their safe arrival in Doriath (although Túrin was fairly certain he would not mention their nearly freezing to death in the process) and Queen Melian had requested that Mother return to Doriath with the messengers.</p><p class="western">Lalaith, Túrin knew, had taken it for granted that Mother would indeed do so, for she had become excited at the prospect of seeing Mother, and their new baby brother or sister, who surely had been born by now, ever since they had been told of Melian's request.</p><p class="western">Túrin could not bring himself to ruin Lalaith's joy, but he thought that if Mother had wished to come here, she would have accompanied them to begin with, and he did not truly expect her to join them now. (He might have <em>wanted</em> her to come, but that did not mean it would happen.)</p><p class="western">He smiled at Lalaith instead of answering directly. “Who knows?” He glanced ahead, hoping for some way of distracting her. “Look, there's a stream just ahead, like Nen Lalaith at home where we used to play.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith's face lit up and she raced ahead of him, eager as always to find somewhere new to explore. “It's beautiful! Túrin, come see!”</p><p class="western">He caught up to her easily enough, his long legs covering the distance in no time, and he had to agree; the stream, a merrily burbling thing bordered by wild lilies, was a pretty sight.</p><p class="western">Lalaith was already pulling off her shoes. “Let's paddle!”</p><p class="western">“Lalaith, I don't know if we should risk getting wet. We might be in trouble if we ruin our new clothes...”</p><p class="western">She tugged on his hand, blue eyes big and beseeching. “Please? It's hot today, and it'll be fun! Just like back at home, when Father used to-” She cut herself off, as she often did when thinking of Father, her gaze dropping.</p><p class="western">His heart ached at seeing her sad, and without further ado, wishing to see her smile returned, Túrin pulled off his own boots, rolled up his leggings and waded into the stream. “Come along then.”</p><p class="western">It was colder than he had expected, and the current was faster than the surface showed. As Lalaith joined him, her skirts clumsily tied out of the way, he took her hand, just in case. It would not do for her to fall in.</p><p class="western">She let out a shriek at the cold temperature, then grinned, wading deeper, sending a spray of droplets over her gown. “This feels lovely once you get used to it. Come deeper.”</p><p class="western">Túrin shook his head, remembering Mother's old rule: one of them needed to stay in shallower water, so they could help if the other slipped. “I'm fine here.”</p><p class="western">Grinning impishly, Lalaith dipped her hand into the stream- and without warning swung her arm, creating a wave that doused Túrin. Spluttering, he narrowed his eyes at her. “This means war...” Lifting one foot, he kicked some water at her, struggling not to laugh as her neatly brushed hair became a dripping mess.</p><p class="western">She retaliated, of course, and soon both of them were laughing and shouting as they half drowned one another.</p><p class="western">“Túrin! Urwen!” An angry male voice called from the woods. A few moments later, an Elf dressed in court finery stomped into view, a scowl upon his face, which quickly became a sneer as he beheld the two drenched Mortal children as they climbed out of the stream.</p><p class="western">Túrin bowed before the Elf- Saeros, he believed his name to be, one of Thingol's councillors. “Yes, my lord?”</p><p class="western">Saeros looked down his nose at him. “At least you show due respect to your betters, despite you and your sister acting like hooligans in the forest.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith curtsied gracefully, replying before Túrin could. “We were just having some fun and cooling off in the stream, as it is such a hot day. And I prefer to be called Lalaith. No-one actually names me Urwen.” Her smile was innocent, and so Saeros' reaction baffled Túrin.</p><p class="western">“Bah! Children of a supposed Lord of the Edain should show more decorum in public, and accept the names their parents gave them instead of answering to a nonsense word, but I suppose this is too much to expect of mortals.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith's lip wobbled at his tone, and Túrin clenched his fists, anger surging at the insult to his sister and his family, but Saeros had already turned away. “Come along, both of you. The King's messengers have returned and the King and Queen wish to speak with you.” His tone made it clear he thought it beneath his rulers to do such a thing. “I had hoped you would at least have kept yourselves clean and tidy, but perhaps this is what your people view as such?” He cast one sneering look over the dripping wet children. “There is no time for you to go and change. You will have to accompany me as you are. Hopefully you will get the scolding you deserve for ruining your clothing. Come along.” He strode away, clearly expecting them to follow.</p><p class="western">Túrin's blood was boiling in his veins. He could have launched himself at Saeros there and then for his cruel, mocking words, but Lalaith caught his hand.</p><p class="western">“It will be fine.” She smiled, although it was more wobbly, less certain than usual. “The King and Queen had a daughter, they must know that children become messy when they play. And Saeros is just angry because he is too hot too, but he cannot cool off as we have. He will like us better when he gets to know us.”</p><p class="western">Túrin shook his head. “You want to like everyone.”</p><p class="western">“Of course I do! That way everyone is happy. But come on, the messengers are back! Mother and the baby might be here!” Lalaith sounded utterly certain of this, and dragged him along with her, both leaving a dripping trail as they followed Saeros through the woods (both children panting to keep up with his fast strides) and back into Menegroth.</p><p class="western">Túrin did not contradict Lalaith, but his heart was heavy. Mother would not be there, he was almost sure. And when she wasn't, he would have to think of a way to console Lalaith, to convince her that Mother had not forgotten them or replaced them with the new baby.</p><p class="western">(That would be an easier task if he did not fear the same thing.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lalaith walked quickly through the caves of Menegroth, her eyes stinging, sniffling every few seconds as she fought to keep from crying. The messengers that King Thingol had sent had brought back words of thanks, and some gold and jewels, and Father's gilded war-helm, from Mother.</p><p class="western">Mother herself had not come.</p><p class="western">When Lalaith and Túrin had been dismissed, sent to their rooms to change out of their damp and muddy clothing, Túrin had tried to speak to her, but she had ignored him, shutting him out of her room, something she rarely did. She changed into a light gown, leaving her feet bare, choking back sobs as she did so.</p><p class="western"><em>Why</em> hadn't Mother come? It was safe here, there were no scary strange Men in Doriath, and they could have all been a family again, her, Túrin, Mother and the new baby, Niënor. Didn't Mother want her and Túrin any more, now that she had Niënor? The thought made Lalaith's throat close up and more sobs escaped. First she'd lost Father, and now Mother...</p><p class="western">She swallowed hard, wiping her face with her hands, trying to think like Túrin would. Maybe Mother just wanted to wait until Niënor was older before traveling here? It had been hard enough for Gethron and Grithnir to escort Túrin and herself over the mountains- baby Niënor would make things harder, she must be so tiny. Lalaith still felt sad that she wouldn't get to see her new sister while she was still a baby, but Mother not being here now did not have to mean never, did it? She would come and join them once Niënor was old enough for the journey.</p><p class="western">Thinking of Grithnir, who had remained in Doriath with them, too tired for the journey back to Dor-Lomin, unlike Gethron, who had now returned home, reminded Lalaith that she hadn't visited Grithnir for a few days, and he might be missing the flowers she brought him to cheer him up while he had to stay in bed. Brightening at the notion of having something to do, she slipped on a fresh pair of shoes, left her hair unbound, and pulled her door open.</p><p class="western">Túrin was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his back to her bedroom door, causing him to topple backwards comically when she opened it. The look on his upside-down face made her giggle.</p><p class="western">Túrin's own lips twitched, although he tried to look annoyed, it did not work. Soon they both were laughing, and the painful news- that Mother would not leave home and join them here yet- hurt just a little less.</p><p class="western">Túrin sobered up first, climbing to his feet and placing his hands on Lalaith's shoulders. She could see a sheen of tears in his eyes, but his voice only showed concern for her.</p><p class="western">“Are you alright, Lalaith? The news...”</p><p class="western">She felt her lip wobbled, but squared her shoulders, trying to keep smiling. “At least we know Mother and baby Niënor are well, don't we?” She took Túrin's hand in hers, squeezing it, hating to see him upset as much as he did her. “And maybe when Niënor is older, they will both come and live here too!”</p><p class="western">“Perhaps.”</p><p class="western">“Anyway,” Lalaith barreled ahead, “I was just going to fetch more flowers for Grithnir: I haven't taken him any for a few days, and I don't want him to think I've forgotten to visit. Do you want to come with me?”</p><p class="western">Túrin looked doubtful. “We can, but I saw the Elven healers going in to check on Grithnir again. He may not be up to visitors today...”</p><p class="western">“Then I will fetch him flowers and put them in water and give them to him tomorrow! Come on, it's much more fun outdoors than it is inside these caves!” As beautiful as Menegroth was, it was still underground, and Lalaith much preferred being outside, in the fresh air and sunlight of the woods. And, while running and exploring the forest, she didn't have enough time to think about Mother, or to feel homesick. Pulling on Túrin's hand, she all but dragged him outside, knowing he would not stop her- he rarely did.</p><p class="western">Quickly finding her way to a clump of tall daisies that grew not far from the gates of Menegroth, though out of sight of the towering edifice, Lalaith began gathering the prettiest ones to give to Grithnir when she could.</p><p class="western">“The eirien... er, sorry, daisies in your language, are beautiful flowers, are they not?” A cheerful, amused voice sounded from somewhere above Lalaith's head, and she and Túrin both jumped, Lalaith's armful of daisies scattering everywhere as Túrin stepped protectively before her, his eyes scanning the treetops above. Of course! Lalaith realized. Whoever had spoken had to be sitting in a tree, watching them, and she craned her neck looking upward, curious to see this person for herself.</p><p class="western">“Who's there?” Túrin called out. His arms were crossed, and Lalaith could tell he was trying to sound brave, but his voice shook, just a little- he had always hated anyone startling him.</p><p class="western">A slender figure that Lalaith had not seen, so well did the person blend with the canopy above, dropped lithely to the grass in front of them, head inclined in greeting. “Good day, young ones. I am sorry if I frightened you. I meant only to introduce myself.”</p><p class="western">Her voice, for it was an elleth, was still just as cheerful, reminding Lalaith of a robin singing merrily. Her long chestnut-brown hair was unbound and had some leaves and twigs tangled in it. What surprised Lalaith the most, however, was the elleth's height: she was only a mere few inches taller than Túrin, who was ten. Yet the elleth's form suggested she was a grown woman, and her rounded face was youthful. Lalaith could not decide whether this was an adult elleth or a child, but concluded she was unlikely to be a threat, and so pushed Túrin aside, smiling. “Good morning, my lady. I am Urwen, but people name me Lalaith.”</p><p class="western">“Laughter. A fitting name for one who is always so happy. I've seen you and your brother,” here she smiled at Túrin, who nodded, but did not smile in return, “When you wandered these fair woods. My name is Nellas. And you need not call me 'my lady', child, for I am no such thing.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith blushed slightly. She had assumed that all elves wished for Mortals to refer to them as 'my lord' or 'my lady', as those in King Thingol's court seemed to. But perhaps this Nellas was different? Lalaith eyed her with a child's frankness: Nellas was clad in a knee-length sleeveless tunic made of deerskin, with an undershirt made of rough linen, dyed blue, and blue dyed trousers made of the same fabric as her tunic. The tunic was belted with a thick braided cord, knotted at one hip. She certainly was not one of the fine court ladies that Lalaith had seen, wearing expensive gowns and jewels! The casual, rugged manner of Nellas' dress, and her disarming smile, instantly put Lalaith at ease, and she could see Túrin relaxing a little too. In fact, he was gazing up at the tree that Nellas had leaped from in one bound, his eyes wide.</p><p class="western">“How did you even climb up there, let alone drop to the ground with such ease?” There was awe in his voice, and Lalaith hid a grin. Túrin loved climbing trees, but rarely got a chance to do so, as he would not leave her unattended, and she was not tall enough to climb as high as he wished without help.</p><p class="western">Nellas offered a hand, her eyes twinkling. “I could show you, if you like...”</p><p class="western">Túrin stepped forward eagerly, then hesitated. “Lalaith cannot be left on her own...”</p><p class="western">Nellas let out another bird-like laugh. “That will not be a problem.” She turned her back, crouching low. “Climb onto my back, Lalaith. I will carry you so you need not be left out.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith had scrambled onto her back before she even finished speaking, arms round her shoulders, legs about her waist, clinging on tightly, feeling relieved when Nellas hooked her own arms beneath Lalaith's knees, securing her. Squirrel-like, Nellas bounded up the tree as if Lalaith's additional weight meant nothing, setting her on a high branch as thick as a bench.</p><p class="western">“Straddle the branch, one leg to each side. It will keep you balanced. And hold on tightly. <em>Don't</em> move.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith obeyed eagerly, feeling somewhat dizzied at being so far from the ground.</p><p class="western">Nellas dropped back to the forest floor, and within minutes, Lalaith could hear her coaching Túrin how to climb up. It took a surprisingly short time before he was scrambling onto the branch beside her, grinning at his own achievement. Nellas joined them with far greater ease seconds later, smiling gently at them.</p><p class="western">“From up here, you can see almost all of the forest. I thought the two of you might like a different perspective on things. I always find somewhere high when I need to be alone to think.”</p><p class="western">“Think about what?” Túrin's voice was wary again, his eyes narrowing.</p><p class="western">Nellas hesitated. “I spend most of my time in the woods, and see and hear a great deal that goes on. I saw your arrival, some weeks ago, and noted the King's messengers leaving, and their return.” She bit her lip, looking very young in that moment. “I overheard them discussing the Queen's message, and your mother's reply.”</p><p class="western">Túrin scowled, looking away. “She didn't come. I knew she would not.” His voice sounded sullen, angry. Lalaith could hear that he was upset and hiding it, but wasn't sure if Nellas could. She bit her lip, not wanting Nellas to be angered by her brother's tone.</p><p class="western">“Perhaps it is just that she wishes to wait until her babe is older before making her way here.” Nellas spoke gently, resting her hand on Túrin's shoulder. He stiffened, but did not throw her hand off or deny her words.</p><p class="western">“I thought that.” Lalaith struggled to sound cheerful as a pang of longing for Mother, to be in her arms, hit her. “Niënor is too small right now to be carried over the mountains through the pass we had to take to get here. As soon as she is big enough, Mother will bring her here and we'll all be together-” She shivered, cutting herself off. “Well, all of us until Father is able to find his way home, anyway.”</p><p class="western">Túrin's hand slipped into hers, squeezing it comfortingly. Lalaith was glad that he didn't try, again, to convince her that Father had died bravely in battle. She knew he believed that, but she did not. Father was still alive, out there somewhere, and someday, he would be free, and she would see him again. They all would.</p><p class="western">Nellas slipped an arm round her shoulders, cradling her like Mother used to, and Lalaith snuggled closer, even as her eyes drifted towards the farthest North, where the Enemy had his stronghold, far too close to home in Dor-Lomin, where Mother and baby Niënor still dwelled.</p><p class="western"><em>Túrin and I are safe, here in Doriath. Please let Father, Mother and Niënor be safe too, until we can all see each other again!</em> Lalaith wished silently, with all her heart, as she looked out over the bird's eye view of Doriath and the lands that lay beyond.</p><p class="western">For a second, it looked like a huge shadow moved, looming almost, on the northern horizon, making her shiver and cling tighter to Túrin's hand. But she blinked and it was gone, so she decided she must have imagined it, or just seen a dark wisp of cloud, and turned her thoughts from her parents and new infant sister, instead listening to Nellas' offer to teach Túrin, and Lalaith herself, the Elves' language of Sindarin, to make their lives here in Doriath easier.</p><p class="western">Both of them agreed, of course, and soon that part of the woods echoed with stuttered Sindarin words, silly mistakes, and the echoing ring of young laughter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/127508233177958707/</p><p>Nellas as I've tried to describe her and her outfit in this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lalaith grinned proudly as she sat astride her new grey horse: a gift for her eighth birthday from King Thingol and Queen Melian. (They'd had a feast to mark the day as well, but the affair had been stiff and formal. Lalaith much preferred the horse, even if she would never tell her foster-parents that. She had a feeling Queen Melian knew anyway.) She had, so far, only been allowed to ride the mare under supervision, but she had befriended the horse now- the mare always whinnied a greeting when she saw Lalaith. (The friendship may have been helped along by bribes of apples and carrots, but what did that matter?) Lalaith was more than sure that she could manage one short ride on her own, and she was eager to show her horse to Nellas.</p><p class="western">That had been the one drawback to Lalaith's birthday: Nellas did not come to Menegroth, preferring to live in the forest, and so Lalaith had not seen her friend for almost a week.</p><p class="western">Túrin had told her to wait, that they would both go and find Nellas after he had finished his lesson in swordplay with Lord Beleg, but Lalaith was bored and had already finished the writing lessons she'd been set in the library. Túrin had promised to do his own writing that evening, after supper, in exchange for being permitted to go with Lord Beleg for swordplay lessons. (Lalaith wouldn't have minded learning swordplay herself, but Lord Beleg had not invited her, and there was always next time.)</p><p class="western">With nothing else to do at present, she'd returned to her room to change into her specially made riding clothes (another birthday gift, from Lord Beleg, though he- and the other Elves- called it a 'Begetting Day' for some reason). Suitably dressed, Lalaith had come out here, saddled and bridled her horse with some effort and led the mare to a mounting block. After much scrambling and heaving, she'd managed to climb into the saddle and slide her feet into the stirrups.</p><p class="western">Digging her heels into the mare's sides, she giggled as the mare obligingly trotted off, scarcely needing guidance as she headed for the city gates and the bridge over the river Esgalduin that led from Menegroth to the forest. The Elven guards, deep in conversation and perhaps assuming she had permission to do this, said nothing and scarcely seemed to notice her as she rode past. As they travelled away from Menegroth, deeper into the woods, Lalaith noticed that she wasn't as balanced in the saddle as she usually was- she was slipping to one side a good deal more. Tightening her grip on the reins, she shifted her weight, trying to right herself. The movement inadvertently drove her heels into the horse's flank and the mare, thinking she was being kicked on, broke into a canter.</p><p class="western">The change in speed knocked Lalaith's left foot from the stirrup, and try as she might, she couldn't catch it again. Fear was making her heart pound as she held on for dear life, praying she wouldn't fall. Her desperate tugs on the reins, trying to slow the horse, had little effect, and as the mare turned sharply to the right, to avoid racing into a tree, there was a ripping sound, and the saddle slipped sideways, hanging half off the horse's back. Within seconds, Lalaith finally lost her grip and was flung over the horse's head like a feather caught in the wind, screaming as she toppled, landing some distance away. She was winded, struggling to catch her breath, and had just managed to roll onto her back, trembling, when the now galloping horse ran straight towards her, apparently unaware that she lay upon the ground.</p><p class="western">The last thing Lalaith saw was how pretty the green leaves of the canopy above looked with the sun shining through them, before the mare's hooves struck her head. A searing pain filled her skull, and everything went black.</p><hr/><p class="western">Túrin panted for breath, pushing sweaty strands of black hair out of his eyes as Beleg stepped back, giving him a brief reprieve from their sparring. To Túrin's annoyance, Beleg looked as fresh as when they had begun. It had been over an hour: he had hoped that, at the very least, the Elf would be short of breath by now. A voice that soundly oddly like Lalaith's sounded in his mind, reminding him that a ten-year-old Mortal was doing well to last longer than a minute against an Elf as old as Beleg, but he scowled: he knew that, but he wanted to be <em>good</em> at this! Not long ago, he had been given lessons in woodcarving. (He'd expressed an interest because of his old friend back at home, lame Sador, who he'd named Labadal.) However, it seemed he was too strong for such pursuits, since <em>every</em> time he tried to carve something, or piece something together, he used too much force and his creations rarely survived. That had led to Beleg's offer to teach him woodcraft such as tracking and hunting, archery, and (Túrin's favorite and today's activity) swordplay.</p><p class="western">He took the waterskin that Beleg offered, drinking deeply, before handing it back. “Shall we have another round?” He <em>really</em> wanted to try again to at least wrong-foot the Elf in a match, even if his muscles were aching and cramping in protest.</p><p class="western">Beleg's lips twitched as if suppressing a smile, but he shook his head. “Not this time, my young warrior. We have practiced enough for today, and it is past noon. I'd best return you to Menegroth for some lunch. Besides,” He added, upon seeing Túrin's face set in a scowl, “Your young sister has been inside the library all morning, and did I not hear you give your word that the two of you would seek out Nellas this afternoon?”</p><p class="western">“Yes...”</p><p class="western">Beleg arched a brow. “And what have I taught you is the greatest honor of a warrior?”</p><p class="western">Túrin stood straighter, nodding as he took Beleg's meaning. “To always keep my word if I give it.” Besides, he <em>did</em> enjoy the time spent with Nellas, and nothing would ever give him greater joy than spending time with Lalaith.</p><p class="western">Beleg nodded approvingly at his words. “Come along then, we shall-” He stopped speaking abruptly, tensing, his head whipping round, facing the way back to Menegroth, as if he had heard something in the woods.</p><p class="western">Túrin glanced from him to the trees warily. “What is it?”</p><p class="western">“I heard a child's scream.”</p><p class="western">Túrin's heart thudded in his chest. <em>Lalaith</em>. She was, as yet, the only child he had even seen in Doriath. But surely she would not venture into the woods alone? And even if she had, what could have caused her to scream? Following Beleg's gaze, he tore off in the direction the Elf was staring, heedless of his course until he had to leap behind a tree to avoid the grey horse racing at him. Beleg, who had kept pace with him easily, soon caught and soothed the animal, and only then did Túrin recognize Lalaith's horse, the birthday gift she had been so proud of. He noted the half-on, half-off saddle and the tangled reins, and fear seized him anew. Cold sweat broke out on his skin, and fear made words burst from him. “That's my sister's horse!” He glanced around, desperately. “Lalaith!”</p><p class="western">He raced off again, heading in the direction the horse had come from, barely noticing Beleg's quickly tying the horse to a tree. The Elf caught him within minutes, lifting Túrin to his shoulder without so much as a by-your-leave, and sprinting on, following tracks only he could see. Usually, Túrin would have protested being carried in such a way- he was not a child!- but nothing mattered now except finding Lalaith and making sure she was alright.</p><p class="western">He let out a cry of anguish when he saw the crumpled, yellow-haired figure, lying unmoving on the ground.</p><p class="western">Beleg set him down hastily and dashed to Lalaith's side, checking her rapidly. His shoulders slumped in relief, and he let out a deep sigh. “She breathes, although she is unconscious. There is some manner of head injury. I dare not move her without further guidance from a healer.” Moving from Lalaith's side, he came and knelt before Túrin, who was trembling, staring at his injured little sister. Why had he left her, why hadn't he stayed at her side to keep her safe?!</p><p class="western">“Túrin.” Beleg's voice was steady, the weight of his hands on Túrin's shoulders firm and reassuring. “I need you to be brave now, and trust me. I will stay with Lalaith. I need you to run back to Menegroth as fast as you can, find the King and Queen, tell them Lalaith has been injured in falling from her horse and a healer is needed. Can you do that?”</p><p class="western">Túrin nodded, his eyes stinging. “She'll be alright?” His voice shook. He couldn't leave until he heard Beleg's reply- he trusted the Elf to be honest.</p><p class="western">“She will fare better the sooner we get a healer to her.” Beleg's voice was solemn.</p><p class="western">Túrin darted to Lalaith's side, brushing the lightest kiss on her brow, whispering that she was alright, she was safe, and he was going to fetch help, before turning and bolting towards Menegroth as fast as his legs would carry him. <em>Please, please, wake up soon and be alright, Lalaith! I'll never do anything without you, never leave you alone again, as long as you aren't badly hurt!</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry to anyone who hates the events of this chapter! Unfortunately, the children of Hurin, adorable as they are, are still cursed. If it helps, no-one is going to die (at this point in the story.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to Inwiste for getting this chapter started by contributing the first line. She is awesome and her Tolkien stories are definitely worth checking out! 😊</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">“The reports from the eastern side of the border state that the region is calm, though the northern border is growing more unstable. I believe it would be wise to concentrate more forces there, taking some soldiers from the eastern border,” Mablung said. He was addressing his king and queen, and a few of their councillors, in the throne room, wishing that Beleg had accompanied him to this meeting- he was Captain of the defense of Doriath as much as Mablung was, and yet he had forsaken his duty here to pass the morning with Húrin's son, for some reason.</p><p class="western">Saeros sniffed disdainfully. “And if such a thing is done, what if the Enemy shifts the bulk of his attacks to the east? Our forces could be overcome.”</p><p class="western">Mablung's hands itched to throttle the arrogant ellon. What did Saeros know of war, he who rarely left the confines of Menegroth, preferring the comforts of the city to the rougher life in the forest? Curbing his anger, he looked to his king for guidance, as no decision could be ratified without Thingol's word.</p><p class="western">The king looked thoughtful, glancing first at Mablung, then at Saeros. He had just begun to reply when Queen Melian raised her hand and stood, her dark eyes fixed on the doors of the throne room- or something beyond them. Mablung recognized the distant look in her eyes as she viewed events taking place elsewhere.</p><p class="western">“What is it, beloved?” Thingol had tensed, clearly seeing the same signs that Mablung had, of trouble brewing elsewhere in the kingdom- or beyond, since for all they knew, Melian might be witnessing some trouble befalling the Princess, or her husband or son, miles away in Ossiriand.</p><p class="western">Without replying, Melian strode quickly down the throne room, towards the doors. She showed no surprise when they were flung open and young Túrin, red in the face and panting from exertion- for clearly, he had been running- burst into the room.</p><p class="western">Mablung heard Saeros sigh heavily, and turned slightly to see the haughty councilor rolling his eyes, his exasperation clear, but Melian's gaze was on the Mortal child, and, given his obvious distress and the tears on his face, Mablung could only surmise that something was badly wrong- in the several months that Túrin and his sister had been dwelling here, he could not recall ever seeing the boy weeping.</p><p class="western">King Thingol clearly had many of the same thoughts, for he quickly joined the Queen, who was now kneeling before Túrin, urging him to take deep breaths, to allow him to gather enough air to speak.</p><p class="western">It took several minutes for him to blurt out the story, but once the adults had grasped that young Lalaith had had a fall from her horse (that she should not even have been riding without supervision) and lay unconscious in the forest, guarded only by Beleg, the meeting concerning the borders was abandoned, and they all followed the Queen, who seemed to know precisely where to find Lalaith and Beleg, with the King himself carrying Túrin to save the boy having to run any more than he already had. Mablung brought up the rear. He had not been invited- in fact, no-one had- but his monarchs should not travel without at least one guard, and besides, fear for the little Edain girl was making his heart pound. He was fond of the irrepressibly cheerful child, although he rarely admitted it, and the thought of any harm having befallen her was horrifying.</p><p class="western">He barely noticed that Saeros had not accompanied them, and in fact had shown no concern other than muttering quietly that the girl had likely just fainted and all this 'fuss' was unnecessary. Mablung had glared daggers at him before leaving- had Saeros forgotten, in so short a time, the experiences they had had with Lord Beren, and the differences between the strength of the Eldar and the strengths of the Edain?</p><p class="western">As they made their way rapidly through the woods, Thingol paused, and, in an aside to Mablung, too quiet for Túrin to hear, instructed him to return to the palace and alert the healers that they would be needed. He was not comfortable with leaving the King and Queen and their foster-son alone, but neither was he given to disobeying commands from his liege, so, bowing, he did as he had been instructed, reassuring himself that he could easily get to the healing rooms, pass on the news, and then return to the forest as quickly as possible.</p><hr/><p class="western">Beleg found himself gently smoothing Lalaith's golden hair as she lay unmoving on the ground, speaking to her soothingly, as Túrin had- who knew whether or not she could hear him, after all? Splotches of deep purple-red bruises were now visible on her forehead and cheeks, and the area had begun to swell up, which worried Beleg- those were not typical injuries that one sustained in a mere fall from a horse. The child had been struck about the head with some force, though what had happened, he was not certain, but a cold feeling of dread grew within him the longer she lay without waking. He checked her breathing periodically, to reassure himself: it remained shallow, and faster than it should have been, but steady. A quick examination of her limbs suggested no further injuries beyond minor scrapes, for which he was grateful- the clear wounds to her head would be quite enough for the healers to deal with, especially as they were, by and large, unused to tending to Mortals.</p><p class="western">Minutes passed, and his anxiety only grew. The child's face seemed to be losing color, though he could not tell if it was truly happening or if his fears were misleading his eyes. To his great relief, moments later, light footsteps sounded and the trees rustled their branches in greeting, a gesture that Beleg knew always preceded the Queen's arrival. He stood and bowed the instant Melian appeared, though she took little notice, going immediately to Lalaith's side, checking the girl over as he had, before closing her eyes and holding her hands, palms down, over the child's body. She exuded a faint, ethereal glow as she did this, glimmering as if with starlight.</p><p class="western">Beleg left her to her work- healing, he presumed, or stabilizing her to ensure it was safe to move the child- and went and greeted his king, conjuring a reassuring smile for Túrin, a reassurance he did not fully feel.</p><p class="western">Túrin barely seemed to notice, for he raced to his sister's side, only held back from interrupting Melian by Thingol's hand upon his shoulder, a quiet whisper from the king to his fosterling to let Melian work, for Lalaith's sake.</p><p class="western">Túrin obeyed, but his face was pale, his eyes watchful. Beleg stepped to his other side, and all three of them watched, tense, as, slowly, Lalaith's color improved and her breathing deepened, although she did not stir, and the swelling and bruising remained as vivid as before.</p><p class="western">At last, Melian stood, her eyes shadowed. “From what I can determine, she was struck by the horse's hooves, in its flight, after she had fallen from its back.”</p><p class="western">Beleg recoiled at the thought, and saw a white-faced Thingol do the same: even for a full grown Elf, blows from a horse's hooves could cause severe damage. For a Mortal child to take such an injury, and to her head...</p><p class="western">Túrin was visibly trembling, and Beleg could have kicked himself for not hiding his reaction.</p><p class="western">“W-will Lalaith be alright?” Túrin spoke in a quieter, weaker voice than Beleg had yet heard, and his heart ached.</p><p class="western">Melian lifted the small girl gently into her arms, jostling her as little as possible, and turned to begin the journey back to Menegroth as if Lalaith weighed nothing. “Our healers will do all they can for her.” Her words were soft, but the look in her eyes was grave, and Beleg's heart sank. The Queen knew, already, the outcome of this accident, or the most probable one, he could tell, and it was not promising, whatever it was. Glances exchanged with the king showed that he had noticed the same thing. Túrin's lip wobbled- naturally, the far-too-discerning child had picked up on Melian's lack of complete reassurance regarding his sister's health.</p><p class="western">They walked swiftly, Beleg carrying Túrin this time, while Thingol kept pace with his queen, both of them speaking in lowered tones, likely discussing Lalaith's condition. Beleg fell back just slightly, not wishing Túrin to hear anything upsetting or frightening. Their pace was rapid, but nonetheless Beleg was relieved when he heard Mablung calling to them, accompanied by the nickering of horses and the sound of hoofbeats. Realizing that Túrin had not noticed, or not heard, he jostled him slightly to alert him. “Look, Mablung has sent horses for us. We will have Lalaith in the care of the healers in no time now.”</p><p class="western">Yet, as they were mounted, Thingol now cradling Lalaith as gently as he once had his own daughter, and rode back to Menegroth with all haste, handing the injured child to the healers as soon as was possible, Beleg could not get Melian's bleak expression as she examined Lalaith from his mind, and something deep within him echoed with foreboding. In the years since the tragedy of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, as the Fifth Battle was now called by most, rumors had flown hither and yon of a curse that the Enemy had placed on Húrin, who was believed to be his captive, and upon Húrin's kin. Beleg had not wished to believe in such a thing, but now he wondered: Easterlings now controlled Dor-Lomin, the lands that were Húrin's by right, and his children, upon being sent away to what should have been safety, had been starving and had almost frozen to death, along with their guards, before Beleg had found them. Ill-luck seemed to dog Túrin like a shadow, in that much that he did went awry, causing him to unintentionally destroy things that he had made, as the boy had little idea of his own strength, and now this latest accident, that could have injured young Lalaith permanently...</p><p class="western">What if there truly was some manner of curse upon them, innocent children that they were? If so... what might that mean for their futures? What horrors might the Enemy have in store for them, children who were innocent of any perceived harm done to the Lord of Angband? The very thought made Beleg feel nauseous. They were just <em>children</em>, they did not deserve such a fate!</p><p class="western">As the healers worked busily, tending to Lalaith's head injuries, and Thingol, Melian and Mablung did their best to reassure Túrin, despite their growing looks of worry as the healers' faces became more grave, Beleg made a silent vow: if the Enemy had truly set a curse upon these young ones, he, no matter what it took, would do all that he could to offer friendship and ease their struggles through their lives, however long or short they might prove to be. As long as he lived and breathed, the children of Húrin would not suffer more than they utterly had to. No matter what it took.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Túrin sat stiffly in the chair beside the bed that Lalaith was lying in. It had been almost a full day since the healers had set to work on his sister and she had yet to wake. The healers assured him that they had done all they could, and it was only a matter of time before she woke up. Túrin <em>wanted</em> to believe them, but there had been a lot of conversations carried out in low tones that he could not follow, and many concerned or pitying looks cast in Lalaith's direction, but no-one, not even Thingol and Melian, when they checked on them, would explain to Túrin what was troubling the healers so. Melian had only said that 'What will be, will be', and Thingol had say nothing beyond urging him to be brave.</p><p class="western">Of course, that only made him worry more, and he had refused to leave Lalaith's bedside for longer than a minute or two, utterly refusing to even go to bed, sleeping in the chair, even though it made his neck and back ache. Beleg and Mablung had been visiting every few hours as well, consulting with the healers, always leaving with grave looks on their faces. Someone, he wasn't sure who, had brought him food on a tray at meal times, three meals so far, but he'd barely been able to make himself eat any of it. It was as if his appetite had vanished, leaving only fear for his poor sister. It was <em>because</em> he had left her alone and gone for sword lessons with Beleg that this had happened. Lalaith had gotten bored, and taken her horse out alone, leading to this accident. If he'd been with her, she would never have done such a thing- even if she had suggested it, he would not have let her.</p><p class="western">He slid his hand into hers, leaning closer, and whispering in her ear. “Please, Lalaith, wake up. It's been a whole day now, and you're scaring me. I'm sorry I wasn't with you to stop you from getting hurt.” Tears stung his eyes. “I promise I'll never leave you alone ever again unless you want me to, if you wake up soon.”</p><p class="western">She didn't react in any way, and now tears did spill from his eyes. What if the healers were wrong, and Lalaith never woke up? If she was gone forever, and he was left alone among the Elves, with no family at all... If Lalaith were to <em>die</em>... The thought made his stomach churn, and he had to leave her then, lurching to his feet and running to the nearest privy where he was violently ill. Trembling afterwards, he stood up slowly, his legs wobbly. He almost didn't want to go back to Lalaith- if she <em>was</em> going to die, he didn't want to watch it happen. But she'd never forgive him if she woke and he wasn't there, so, moving slowly, dragging his feet, he forced himself to return to her side, almost afraid to look at her, almost sure that she would have stopped breathing in the time he'd been gone. Bracing himself, and suddenly needing to breathe really fast, because he couldn't get enough air, he made himself look at Lalaith's face.</p><p class="western">Her eyes were open, and she was staring at the ceiling.</p><p class="western">He staggered, almost reeling from the shock, and half-fell towards her, grabbing her hand again, crying in relief and for once not caring if anyone saw him. “Lalaith!”</p><p class="western">She struggled for a minute, glancing around wildly, clinging to his hand. “Túrin?!” Her voice was high-pitched, frantic. “Where am I?”</p><p class="western">He blinked, puzzled, before remembering that she had not seen the healers' rooms before, and perhaps, as she had hit her head, she did not remember her fall from her horse? “It's alright, you're safe. Beleg and I found you in the woods. You're in the healers' rooms in Menegroth.” He spoke softly, worried she might have a headache- the bruises on her forehead, although fainter, were still visible.</p><p class="western">“Healer's- oh, right. I fell off my horse.” Lalaith took several deep breaths, still gripping Túrin's hand as if it was a rope keeping her afloat in a river current. “I'm sorry.”</p><p class="western">Túrin kissed her cheek gently. “It's alright, no one is angry with you.” At least, no-one had said they were, despite Lalaith taking her horse out alone without permission: it wasn't as if she hadn't paid for it, getting hurt!</p><p class="western">Lalaith turned her head towards him, but her eyes fixed on some spot past his shoulder. He glanced backwards, thinking there was someone standing there, but the little room was empty save for the two of them. “Did you want me to fetch one of the healers for you?”</p><p class="western">“No, not now. It's too late.”</p><p class="western">Túrin blinked, confused. Late? What did she mean? His discarded breakfast tray, barely touched, still sat on the floor beside his chair, and he was fairly sure it was nearing mid-morning. Maybe Lalaith was just confused.</p><p class="western">“Won't you be in trouble for not being in bed in the middle of the night?” Lalaith sounded genuinely worried, still staring in his general direction, but not straight at him.</p><p class="western">Túrin was getting worried now. “Lalaith, it's not night-time. Someone brought me breakfast a few hours ago.”</p><p class="western">Her blue eyes finally locked onto him, wide with fear, and now he noticed that the color seemed dimmer, milkier, as if a white film of some kind covered the bright blue, the pupil of the eye no longer visible at all. “It's daytime?” Her voice trembled. “But... it's so dark. I can't see anything...”</p><p class="western">His heart pounded- was this what the healers had discussed with Thingol, Melian, Beleg and Mablung? Had Lalaith's injuries left her <em>blind</em>? Why hadn't anyone warned him?!</p><p class="western">“Túrin?” Lalaith's voice was a whimper now. “Why is there no light?” She was trembling.</p><p class="western">He hesitated- what was he supposed to say?!</p><p class="western">Lalaith blinked a few times. “Am I... like Ragnir now?”</p><p class="western">A bitter kind of relief flooded Túrin as he remembered the old blind man who served Mother back at home: at least he didn't have to explain things to Lalaith with no reference. “I don't know.” His voice cracked. “I'm going to go find a healer.” Slowly, he eased his hand out of her death-grip. “They'll be able to explain better than me.”</p><p class="western">“Don't leave for too long!” She sounded terrified, and his stomach twisted painfully.</p><p class="western">“I won't.” He kissed her brow. “I'll be right back, I promise.” He took off at a run, bursting from Lalaith's room into the main healer's room, calling out in his faltering Sindarin for help.</p><p class="western">In minutes, several healers were in the room, crowding it, all checking Lalaith, one speaking softly to her, while another went to fetch the king and queen. Túrin fought his way through the adult Elves, reclaiming the chair he had slept in and holding his sister's hand once again, wanting her to know he had returned.</p><p class="western">Her head turned towards him, milky-blue eyes staring past him once again. “Túrin?”</p><p class="western">He choked back a sob. “Yes, I'm here. I'm not leaving you.”</p><p class="western">She wriggled to the side of the bed, nearer to him: only his quick reflexes kept her from falling straight off the side. Thinking fast, he nudged her back, then clambered onto the bed with her, letting her curl up next to him, her head on his shoulder. He pretended not to notice her tears dripping onto his tunic, or the way she clung to him so desperately, as if she was afraid he wasn't real, as Thingol and Melian's voices could be heard, their footsteps approaching.</p><p class="western">He wrapped his arms around her, supporting her, like he had when she was tiny and only just learning to stand and walk.</p><p class="western">Would she have to learn it all over again now? What would her life be like if her sight was gone forever?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ragnir is a canon character in The Children Of Húrin, but nothing is known about him except that he was a servant in Húrin's household that remained in Dor-Lomin with Morwen after the departure of Túrin (and Lalaith), and that he was blind. I mentioned him here because he is a point of reference for the children, giving them an understanding of what 'blind' means.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: I do not have a severe visual impairment, nor do I know anyone who does. Lalaith's experiences and ways of coping with blindness in this chapter are fiction, entirely made up by me. They are not based on any real-life experiences.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lalaith opened her eyes. Groggy from sleep, for a few seconds, she forgot what had happened and her breath tightened in her chest when everything remained black.</p><p class="western">And then she remembered. Moving slowly, she placed her hands flat on the mattress either side of her, and wriggled until she was sitting up, her back pressed to her pillows. The air in the room was warm and still, and she could not hear anyone in the room with her or nearby. That meant it was (probably) still early in the morning, and someone would be in to wake her soon, and then it would be breakfast time. Hopefully she would get something other than porridge today- it was one of the few foods she had been allowed while in the healing rooms, mainly because, once the spoon was in her hand, and her free hand rested on the bowl on her lap, she could (usually) eat it herself, albeit very slowly. Food that required more complicated utensils meant someone sitting with her, guiding her hand to pick up food, and making sure it reached her mouth without creating a mess. Lalaith wondered if this was how a baby must feel, being helped as it learned to eat. Except, of course, a baby would be able to see what it was doing.</p><p class="western">Feeling too awake to return to sleep, she swung her legs out of her bed, wriggling until her feet brushed the soft fur rugs that had been cast over every inch of the polished stone floor, to protect her in case she fell, then, keeping her hands on the bed, slowly stood up, breathing deeply, waiting for the dizziness that happened every morning now to pass. The healers, before releasing her to her own room, had said that might happen, that her balance would suffer as she could no longer rely on her eyes to let her know she was standing upright and in no danger of falling.</p><p class="western">Once she felt steadier, she made her way across her room, counting the steps that she'd mapped out in her head over the past few days, keeping her hands outstretched before her, hoping to feel any obstacles before she walked into them. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!” Lalaith grinned to herself as her fingers brushed the cool, shaped metal of the door-handle, and her 'map' was proven right. Nine steps from her bed to the door, just like she'd counted yesterday. Examining the ornate handle with her hands- it was some manner of flower, she thought, why had she never noted its carved shape while she could still see?- She twisted it and pulled the door open wide, leaving it open to (hopefully) avoid walking straight into the door when she left.</p><p class="western">Using her hands once again to feel ahead of her, she stepped into the corridor, taking a total guess and moving three steps to the left of her door, then reaching to one side, hoping to feel the wall, to guide her as she walked.</p><p class="western">Luckily, she felt the unyielding pressure of the thick granite within seconds, and grinned. The walls, although smooth, were far rougher in texture than the floors here, but then again, it wasn't as if anyone was going to bother polishing the walls, was it? Now... she thought hard. Túrin's room was only one door to the left of hers, so, by keeping her hand on the wall, she should be able to feel when the stone changed to a wooden door, find the handle and go and surprise her brother!</p><p class="western">Túrin had spent the entire three days and nights that Lalaith had been made to stay in the healers' rooms at her side, and had only gone to sleep in his own room last night because Thingol had told him outright that he had to. Túrin had still been worried about her though, she could tell from the way he'd been speaking, and could easily picture the frown on his face. Her slipping into his room to wake him would make him feel better, surely?</p><p class="western">She had been walking- carefully- as she thought, sliding her hand along the wall, until, with little warning, it slipped, thudding onto smoother wood. Túrin's door. Right. Now, she just had to find the door-handle. Turning to face the door (she thought) she used both her hands to explore, sliding her palms and fingers over the smooth wood until she felt colder metal, and, groping, managed to grasp the handle. Odd- this door-handle wasn't carved into a flower like her own, it felt more like... a tree of some kind. Oh well.</p><p class="western">Locating the base of the handle, the 'trunk' of the tree, she managed to wrest it open and pushed the door, which obligingly opened with a heavy creak, making it far easier to judge where the doorway was. Lalaith stepped forward, once again using her hands to feel for any obstructions, and moving her feet very carefully, in case there was anything she might trip on.</p><p class="western">Túrin's bedroom floor had not been plastered with soft rugs as her own had, and the cold it exuded made her toes curl, for she was barefoot, as she had not wanted to disturb anyone to help her locate and put on shoes. She remembered, then, that she was also only in her thin nightgown, and her hair had not been brushed, but again, asking for such help would only make her a nuisance, and she would only be seeing her brother. Or, well, not <em>seeing</em>, her thought made her laugh softly, just visiting him.</p><p class="western">A faint snore from some distance in front of her made her giggle to herself: Túrin was still asleep! Usually, he woke long before she did. But at least she now knew in which direction the bed lay, so she could walk towards it and sit down. She moved forward carefully, counting her steps as she went, quietly, not wanting to wake Túrin. “One, two, three, four, five-” Her foot collided with something that moved, knocking her other foot and costing her her balance. Staggering sideways, she felt her side and arm slam into something large and wooden, which skidded across the stone floor before clattering to the floor. The impact sent her toppling towards the ground. Throwing her hands out, she just managed to avoid landing face-first and groped around, trying to work out what she had tripped on. Feeling the soft give of brushed leather, with a thicker base, she felt over the object and realized what it was: her brother's boot. More groping revealed what the wooden object had been: a chair, with what felt like fabric tossed hither and thither around it on the floor. Túrin had left his boots beneath the chair, or next to it, with his clothes for today folded neatly on the seat, and she had managed to knock the entire thing flying.</p><p class="western">Her ribs throbbed from the chair striking her, and her palms stung- she must have grazed them when she tried to stop her fall. Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them back- she'd let herself cry twice- when she had first realized she couldn't see any more, and Túrin had been there to comfort her, and again that first night, when she'd woken from a bad dream, wanted her mother, then remembered that she would never <em>see</em> Mother, or anything else, ever again. She was still alive and could still find things to be happy about. Blindness could be managed- Ragnir at home was blind, and he hadn't spent all his time weeping or bemoaning the things he could no longer do, had he? He had found other things to do, ways to be useful and to stay cheerful, and she needed to do the same.</p><p class="western">Moving with more care- she did not want to collide with the chair again!- she stood up, slowly, and attempted to dust herself off out of habit- a futile gesture since she couldn't see if there was anything on her nightgown or not. Then, since, judging by Túrin's breathing, he had not been woken by her fall, (and she was glad, since he had been awake <em>every single time</em> she awoke during the three days she'd been in the healer's rooms, and he deserved some real sleep now) she knelt, and, feeling along the lengths of wood that made up the chair, tried to ascertain which way was 'up'- she could not put her brother's clothing back, folded neatly as he would have left it, but she could at least try to right the chair.</p><p class="western">Finding what she thought was a chair leg, she pushed at the chair, placing the leg upon the floor- only to hear another clatter as it toppled once more. She resumed her efforts, this time trying to find the wider piece of wood that formed the seat. Locating it, and feeling each side to locate the back of the chair, she then tipped it forward, laughing softly in triumph when she heard the four chair legs strike the ground with soft 'thunk' sounds. <em>I did it!</em></p><p class="western">“Who's there?!” Túrin's voice was loud, but thick with sleep, and there was a lot of shuffling coming from the bed, before she heard the bedsprings groan, then a louder thud on the black stone floor. Had Túrin climbed onto his bed just to jump out of it?</p><p class="western">“Why didn't you just get out of bed normally?” She giggled, turning her head in the direction she thought the bed was.</p><p class="western">“Lalaith?” She felt his eyes on her, somehow, and grinned, picturing his face going red. There was a pause before he replied. “I was preparing to fight an intruder.”</p><p class="western">She snorted with laughter. “Were you going to fight them off with your pillows?” Something else occurred to her, and now her giggles nearly had her doubling over. “You slept straight through my coming in, knocking a chair over and righting it, then you wake at the tiny sound of the chair legs scraping the floor?”</p><p class="western">“I...” Footsteps sounded and then Túrin took her arm, leading her to sit on the bed. Then she could hear movement and the slithering of fabric. “Did you <em>have</em> to mess up my clothes?” Túrin was trying to sound normal, she could tell, but the fact that his voice trembled showed he was upset. Suddenly, there was a scuff of his feet on the floor, so fast the noise was almost a squeak and then he was back in front of her, gently examining her arms, for some reason, and then grasping her chin, tilting her face from side to side. “The chair didn't fall on you, did it?! If you got hurt again...” There was something pained and bitter in his voice, and Lalaith leaned forward, reaching out, arms outstretched, offering him a hug.</p><p class="western">“Túrin, I am <em>fine</em>. And my fall from the horse was my fault, not yours. I don't want you to feel bad.”</p><p class="western">He choked on what could have been a sob. “But if I'd just <em>been</em> there...”</p><p class="western">She hugged him tighter, her eyes stinging. “Please don't blame yourself. I'm alright, I promise. I'll learn to live a different way, that's all. Just like Ragnir used to say, or Labadal, remember? A difficulty like this is just a challenge to overcome, not the end of Arda.”</p><p class="western">“I-” Whatever Túrin had been about to say was interrupted by loud footsteps and someone calling for Lalaith.</p><p class="western">Puzzled, she turned towards the sound, coming from the open door of Túrin's room. “I'm in here!”</p><p class="western">More footsteps, and then movement from Túrin, or so Lalaith's ears told her. “Mablung?” Her brother sounded confused, as indeed was she. “Is something wrong?”</p><p class="western">Yet more footsteps, coming closer, and then a heavy hand- Mablung's- rested gently on Lalaith's shoulder. "What are you doing in here, Lalaith? You know that you should not leave your room unaccompanied, I know the healers told you as much," Mablung said. His voice was stern but Lalaith knew that he was simply concerned. “Your maid came to wake you and found your room empty. She was worried for you and came to find me. Why did you not wait and ask for help to come and greet your brother?”</p><p class="western">Lalaith shrugged, feeling a bit guilty now. She'd attempted the walk on her own to see if she could, and because she hadn't wanted to bother anyone. Except, it seemed, she had done that anyway. Reaching for Mablung's hand, she slipped her own into it (after missing once or twice.) “I'm sorry, Mablung, I didn't mean to be a bother.”</p><p class="western">He sighed heavily. “I know, child, but you must be more careful. It will be far easier for you to become lost or injured now. What if you had gone the wrong way and fallen down a flight of stairs?” His large hand totally encasing her smaller one, he helped her back to her feet. “Come along, I will see you back to your room.”</p><p class="western"><em>But I don't want to just sit in there all day every day!</em> Lalaith wanted to protest, but Mablung had sounded so worried when he first came in... Maybe if she did as the healers had said for a day or two, she would be allowed to try and find her way around again soon, even though she couldn't see? She nodded, smiling in Mablung's general direction, letting him lead her- though, in truth, she had little choice, a Mortal child guided by a full grown Elf.</p><p class="western">“I'll come and see you after breakfast, Lalaith, I promise.” Túrin called as Mablung led her away.</p><p class="western">She twisted in the elf's grip, looking towards the sound of Túrin's voice. “Won't you come and eat with me?” She thought, as she was being allowed to eat in her room now, that her brother should be allowed to do the same.</p><p class="western">“King Thingol and Queen Melian asked me to join them for breakfast again today, like we usually d-” Túrin cut himself off. “But I can ask to come and eat with you if you want!”</p><p class="western"><em>Like we usually do</em>. Like they'd used to, before her accident. “No, it's fine.” Lalaith swallowed the lump in her throat. “Enjoy breakfast. I will see you afterwards.”</p><p class="western">She began walking faster, wanting to be in her room and alone before she started to cry again. She let Mablung help her sit on her bed, and just managed to smile when he promised to have breakfast sent, chuckling at her request for 'Anything but porridge!'</p><p class="western">Once he had left, she let herself collapsed sideways onto her bed and let her tears fall. One of her hands brushed something soft, and she hiccuped as she realized she'd gotten a hold of her favorite stuffed toy, a cuddly dog that she'd named Huan, after the famous Hound, that her father had made for her, years ago. She clutched it close, burying her face and hiding her tears, trying to think straight: meals with the king and queen had always been formal, the conversation a bit awkward, so not having to do that any more could be a good thing. And besides, she would only embarrass herself, having to ask for help to eat every single thing in front of Doriath's rulers. On the other hand, Thingol and Melian were Túrin's and her own foster parents, so one of them <em>should</em> show respect by joining them for breakfast if that was what they wished. She would get to eat her breakfast in private, with Huan-the-toy to keep her company, and Túrin would be back afterwards, and maybe then she could ask if, with his help, she could go outside! She couldn't <em>see</em> the woods, obviously, but she would still love to go outside again, to pay a call on Nellas, let her friend know she was as well as could be expected. She also needed to go and make sure her horse was alright- somehow, she had forgotten the mare until now, and the horse probably missed her. Lalaith needed to let her know they were still friends, despite the accident and Lalaith's not being able to ride or care for her any more.</p><p class="western">Her plans for the day cheered her, and, sitting up, she wiped tears from her face and was smiling once again when her maid knocked, bringing in her breakfast. Lalaith inhaled deeply, trying to guess from the smell of the food what she had been brought. Eggs, she thought, and... was that <em>sausage</em>? Her mouth was watering and her stomach growled even before the tray was set on the bed beside her (she felt the mattress dip) and her maid slipped a fork into her hand, helping her to pick up food (it was already cut into bite-sized pieces) and guide it towards her mouth.</p><p class="western">Lalaith thanked her between mouthfuls, and vowed this would be the next thing she would master- managing to eat on her own, without this level of help, as soon as possible. Her poor maid had better things to do than to coddle her this way!</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Túrin leaned closer to the book he was reading, doing his best to yawn quietly, so that Lalaith would not hear. He'd begun reading to her every day, since she could obviously no longer do so herself, and she loved to hear the old tales of the history of the Elves, and of the Edain, although there was scant mention of the latter in the libraries of Doriath. It turned out to be a wasted effort on his part however, for Lalaith herself was stifling a yawn. He set the book down with a sigh. “Shall I choose another book?” It was an effort, if he was honest, to sound enthusiastic. It had been several weeks since Lalaith's accident, and her requests to be allowed outdoors had always been kindly but firmly denied: it seemed the Elves feared more harm befalling her now that she could not see, and while this made some sense to Túrin, he hardly thought it fair for his sister to be shut up in her rooms the entire time. Especially when he could still come and go as he pleased, to visit Nellas, (who had at first wished Lalaith a swift recovery, then wept with grief and horror when she had understood the permanence of blindness) or to continue his woodsman or weapons training with Beleg. He had taken to spending large parts of each day with his sister, (he would have spent all his time with her, but she would not let him, insisting that he carry on doing other things that he enjoyed) but he knew that she was bored and restless, although she did not complain for fear of upsetting anyone.</p><p class="western">For his part, Túrin had attempted to persuade Thingol that Lalaith should be allowed outdoors, or at least to roam Menegroth if she wished, pointing out that there had been a blind man who served in their home, and he had learned to get about well enough. Thingol's response- after being obviously amazed that blindness could happen to Mortals as a result of illness or old age, not merely accidents such as Lalaith's, had only responded that Ragnir was not a child and he must have had time to learn to move without his sight, even though the King clearly was astounded about how, not really understanding Túrin's explanation of the long thin cane Ragnir used to feel his way and guide his footsteps. Regardless, Thingol had insisted Lalaith stay in her room until she had learned to move about safely. Túrin had fumed inwardly at that: how was Lalaith meant to learn to find her way around if she was never permitted to try? But he could not think of a way to phrase his argument without sounding childish, and as Saeros had been standing nearby listening, his lip curled, Túrin had not pressed the matter.</p><p class="western">The passing of Grithnir, one of the guards who had escorted Túrin and Lalaith here to Doriath, just over a week ago, had saddened Túrin: one more link with home gone forever. Grithnir might be at peace now, as Lalaith had said bravely when he had broken the news to her, but that was small comfort to his mind. Neither child had been permitted to attend the burial, it being judged too grim a matter for them, but the Elves had done Grithnir a great honor, burying him amongst their own dead, even if Túrin thought that Grithnir might have preferred to be with his own people, it was not an option: times were too dangerous to risk a trek over the mountains merely to return a body for burial. Word had been sent to Mother of Grithnir's passing, and of Lalaith's accident, and the result. Beleg had told both children as much, when he visited Lalaith and found Túrin there, but if Mother had replied, no-one had told them what words she had sent.</p><p class="western">Brought back to the present by the sound of Lalaith sniffling, he glanced at her, and his heart clenched to see tears on her face. He was on his feet, at her side and hugging her in seconds, book dropped to the floor heedlessly.</p><p class="western">“Lalaith, please, don't cry,” he pled. “I hate seeing you upset.”</p><p class="western">She sniffed again, gulping back tears. “I just want to go outside. I'm fed up of being shut away in here.” Her voice broke. “Can't <em>you</em> just help me get outside? We don't even have to go far, I just want to go <em>somewhere</em>. Please?”</p><p class="western">Túrin bit his lip. Lalaith had been told to keep to her room, but, surely, if she had someone with her, holding her arm and guiding her, she would be able to manage? She could still hear perfectly, and would listen to what her helper said. Honestly, he wasn't sure why one of the numerous Elves that lived and worked within the cave-city hadn't offered such help- surely <em>one</em> of them could be spared to guide Lalaith, even if just for an hour or so?</p><p class="western">Abruptly, he stood up, his decision made. If the Elves here wouldn't help Lalaith continue to be her usual happy self, then he would! “Come on then.”</p><p class="western">She inhaled deeply in shock. “Really?”</p><p class="western">“Yes.” He eyed her: her maid had helped her to dress, as she did each morning, or so Lalaith had told him, and her hair was braided neatly, but her feet had been left bare. No matter, he could see her kid leather shoes, tucked away under her dresser. Retrieving them, he knelt at her feet, then paused. “Can you put your shoes on yourself if I give them to you, or should I do it?”</p><p class="western">“You can, it will be faster.” The grin on Lalaith's face was almost ear-to-ear, and a matching one spread over Túrin's own face as he obliged: things felt far more normal with Lalaith happy as she should be.</p><p class="western">Moving to stand at her side, he helped her to her feet and linked his arm through hers, her hand curling around his forearm for added support. He turned them so they were facing the door. “We're going to walk forward for a few steps now, until we reach the corridor.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith nodded and they began their walk. It took a minute for Túrin to match his longer strides to his sister's shorter ones, but they were walking side by side by the time he pulled the door open and led them from Lalaith's room.</p><p class="western">“Turn right now, and we'll walk straight until we get to the top of the stairs.” Luckily, none of the servants were in view, so hopefully they would manage their excursion without being seen and stopped. At the top of the stairs, Túrin paused.</p><p class="western">“We're at the stairs now.” He thought for a moment. “We'll go one step at a time, at the same time. Only step down when I say.”</p><p class="western">“Alright.” There was a faint tremor in Lalaith's voice, and her grip on his arm tightened, her knuckles white, but she stood tall at his side. He gulped, hoping that his sister would not hear, not wanting to scare her with his own nervousness.</p><p class="western">“First step. Come on, I have you. Step down, carefully.” He heaved a sigh of relief when it worked, and they both stood firmly on the same stair. “And the next one. Move as slowly as you need.” It took several minutes, but they eventually reached the foot of the stairs.</p><p class="western">Lalaith beamed. “We're in the lower hall, aren't we?”</p><p class="western">“Yes, I... how can you tell?”</p><p class="western">She shrugged, her grip on his arm relaxing somewhat now they were on level ground. “I don't know, it just... sounds different in here. It echoes more.” She laughed, the sound merry and joyful. “I- <em>we</em> did it!”</p><p class="western">He squeezed her arm. “We did. But if you still wish to go outside, we need to move before someone hears us.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith almost jumped for joy at the very thought. “Lead on!”</p><p class="western">He did so, as quickly as he could, scanning their surroundings as they went, warning Lalaith of anything that might make her trip, avoiding obstacles as much as possible. The utter lack of people, servants or otherwise, struck him as odd, but he decided he did not care to think too much about it, since it allowed him to grant his sister's wish and let her go outside.</p><p class="western">Their luck held and they made it to the gates unchallenged. Now would be the difficult part: passing the guards. Túrin knew he had to look absolutely certain in his movements, as if he had every right to be escorting Lalaith into the woods. He stood as tall as he could, feigning utter confidence as they drew closer to the main entrance- and exit- of Menegroth. His stride faltered somewhat as he saw someone coming <em>towards</em> the city, and, upon seeing it was Nellas, his puzzlement grew: their forest-dwelling friend never came to Menegroth, she had told them, many times, that she disliked being beneath ceilings of stone. Why would she be approaching the city now?</p><p class="western">“Túrin, why have we stopped?”</p><p class="western">“Nellas is crossing the bridge.” He was too confused to try to explain more than that.</p><p class="western">“She's coming <em>into</em> Menegroth?” Lalaith sounded as baffled as he felt, if pleased at the thought of her friend visiting. “But she said she never...”</p><p class="western">“Túrin! Lalaith!” Nellas' voice sounded cheerful and clear, as she strode towards them, smiling as if this meeting had somehow been planned.</p><p class="western">“Hello, Nellas...” Túrin's voice trailed off as she approached, embracing him, as she always did, then, blinking back tears, bending slightly to hug Lalaith.</p><p class="western">“I've missed you, little one.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith released Túrin's arm to hug Nellas back, tightly. “I've missed you too, Nellas. Did Túrin tell you what happened?”</p><p class="western">Nellas swallowed hard, nodding in reply.</p><p class="western">“Nellas?” Lalaith stared in her direction, waiting for a response. It seemed to take a minute for the Elf-maiden to catch on.</p><p class="western">“Oh! Yes, he did.” Nellas' voice cracked with emotion. “I grieved to hear of it.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith, presumably following her ears, stepped forward and hugged Nellas again. “Don't be sad! It could be worse. I can still do some things, and I'm learning more every day.”</p><p class="western">Nellas clamped a hand to her mouth, and Túrin could see her blinking back tears. “You must be one of the bravest souls I've ever known, Lalaith.”</p><p class="western">She giggled. “Not really! But being blind isn't the end of everything, is it? One of our servants at home was blind, and he learned to do things for himself. I will too, with time.”</p><p class="western">“...This... affliction can happen to other Mortals?” Nellas sounded stunned. She looked at Túrin, as if hoping he would deny it.</p><p class="western">Recalling Thingol's reaction to learning about Ragnir, and the pitying looks on the healers' faces as they tended Lalaith, and the way that most people here now treated Lalaith as if she were made of spun glass, he could not understand why hearing of such handicaps unnerved the Elves so: had they never encountered blind people before? He only shrugged in response to Nellas. “Loss of vision is common in our people as they age. Some diseases can cause it too. Like Lalaith says, it's not the end of everything. People who are blind, or lame, just have to find new ways to do things.”</p><p class="western">“Lame?” Nellas blinked. “I do not know what that means...”</p><p class="western">“Oh, it's when something is wrong with someone's leg or foot, like an injury that hasn't healed well, or sometimes a problem they're born with, and they need support like a cane to walk.” Lalaith explained matter-of-factly. Túrin nodded in agreement, remembering Sador the woodcarver at home. He was very glad that Lalaith could not see the look of utter horror and pity on Nellas' face following that statement- obviously, the Elves did not have such difficulties, for they were harder to injure permanently, but to (apparently) never have even <em>heard</em> of such things, when the King's daughter was married to one of Túrin and Lalaith's own cousins... how was that possible?</p><p class="western">Nellas shook her head, her face clearing, as if setting that conversation aside to deal with later. “Well, anyway, I was coming to see you, but it looks as if you had the same idea!” She was smiling now, but it was wobbly. Thankfully, her voice was normal, and Lalaith seemed oblivious to her upset. “Shall we go inside to spend some time together, if that would be easier now?” Nellas looked at Lalaith with some concern. Túrin nearly scowled at her, but prevented himself: if Nellas had never been around a blind person, she couldn't be blamed for being uncertain and wary.</p><p class="western">Lalaith shook her head vehemently, her braid flying back and forth. “No! No no no. I have been inside for too long. I want to go <em>outside</em>, into the woods. Just for a little while. Please?”</p><p class="western">Nellas looked at Túrin as if asking for guidance. “I don't know...”</p><p class="western">He stepped closer, taking Lalaith's arm again. “It's fine. I can help Lalaith. And it would be nice for us to be outside for a while.”</p><p class="western">Nellas took a deep breath. “If you're sure...”</p><p class="western">“We are!” Both siblings chorused, both conveniently 'forgetting' to mention their lack of permission to do this.</p><p class="western">Somewhat hesitantly, Nellas took Túrin's free hand, and, matching her pace to theirs, she led them across the bridge, barely taking her worried eyes from Lalaith, who began grinning broadly when the ground beneath them changed from stone to earth, and the sounds of the forest surrounded them.</p><p class="western">Nellas stopped every few steps to keep checking on Lalaith, until she realized that Túrin was doing well enough at helping his sister avoid obstacles in her path. Gradually, she relaxed, and began telling them of the current goings-on in the forest, including, according to rumors from the birds she could speak with, a pending visit from the King's daughter Lúthien, her husband Beren and their little son Dior. Nellas could not say when they would arrive, save that it would be soon.</p><p class="western">The news thrilled both children, although Túrin worked hard to conceal it. Father had told them many tales of their heroic cousin, his powerful bride, and the adventures they had had. The idea of getting to <em>meet</em> such legendary figures... It was beyond their wildest dreams! Nellas, chuckling at their enthusiasm, nonetheless obliged their excited requests for more tales of Beren and Lúthien (although they sounded much more... normal, and less like mighty heroes, in Nellas' stories than they had in Father's.)</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">“Honestly, Dior, you do not need to run so quickly: Menegroth, and your grandparents, will still be there if you slow down a little!” Beren shook his head indulgently at his small son, who kept darting ahead of him and Lúthien as if they were in a race and he was desperate to win.</p><p class="western">“But the journey is taking so long!” Dior complained, his cherubic face pouting as he fell into step with his parents.</p><p class="western">Lúthien laughed, the musical sound making Beren's heart catch: even after years of marriage, he still sometimes could not believe that this was real, that she loved him as he did her, and that she had given up so much for him. She caught Dior's chubby hand in her own slender one, keeping him at her side. “Do not fret, my little one. We will be there not long after sunset. The longest part of the journey is over.”</p><p class="western">“Yes!” Dior's grin could have split his face in two, and Beren chuckled, marvelling at his son, and what little it took to make him happy. Of course, he had no idea of the... complicated history between his parents and grandparents, nor was he aware of the unspoken reason for this visit: the concern that Beren, and Lúthien to a lesser degree, felt for Thingol's new foster-children, the son and daughter of Húrin and of Morwen, Beren's own cousin by some removes. Mortal children. Thinking back to his own treatment upon arriving in Doriath, Beren had not been able to accept his law-father's sudden 'adoption' of these two children, and he felt he needed to see them for himself. Lúthien had not shared in his misgivings until they had learned that the girl-child, Urwen, had been injured in some accident, which could suggest the children were not being monitored properly. That was how Beren saw it, anyway. Lúthien, out of loyalty to her parents, only said that they needed to learn more before judging anyone or assigning blame. Hence this impromptu visit to Doriath. Even if nothing were amiss, it was fitting that Dior meet his mother's parents, and her- his people. It would also allow him to meet some of his father's kin, and spending time with Mortal children could only be good for him, as he seemed to be growing at a rate more like to a Mortal than an elf. At four years of age, he was about the height Beren would have expected, but he knew that, to Lúthien, their son was growing exceedingly quickly, and it worried her. He sometimes wondered how slowly Elven children grew, as he had never been that close to any full-blooded elf-children and could not judge their rate of growth. Seeing Beren's young kin- Túrin was ten, if they had been informed correctly, and Urwen was eight- might reassure his wife that naught was amiss with their son.</p><p class="western">“What's my cousins' names again?” Dior looked from his mother to his father as he spoke.</p><p class="western">“What <em>are</em> my cousins' names?” Lúthien and Beren corrected his speech in unison, sharing a warm smile. Dior's baby-like speech was endearing, but among the Elves, it would only make him stand out more: according to Lúthien, elf-children of Dior's stature would be speaking more eloquently, and it would not do to have the Elves of Doriath believing their princess' son a simpleton. “And their names are Túrin and Urwen.” Beren added.</p><p class="western">“They're older than me, aren't they?” Some shyness appeared in the four-year-old's eyes. “What if they don't like me?”</p><p class="western">Beren personally couldn't imagine why <em>anyone</em> would dislike his son: in his eyes, Dior was as perfect as his mother, and he could not be prouder of him, nor love him more, but of course he was biased. He did not know Húrin's children, at all, though he had fond memories of Húrin, when they had crossed paths on patrols of their lands, and in battles, many years ago. His recollections of his cousin Morwen were more numerous, but they were from when he'd been little more than a boy himself. He recalled a girl some years younger than him, dark-haired, intense, proud, stern and unchildlike. If her children were like her, what would they make of ever-happy, beloved and indulged Dior?</p><p class="western">“Ada?” Dior's small voice piped up, and, jarred from his thoughts, Beren realized his son was looking for reassurance. Lúthien, meanwhile, watched him with a brow raised, no doubt wondering where his thoughts had gone.</p><p class="western">Stepping around Dior to kneel in front on him, Beren rested his hand on his son's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “They will love you once they get to know you, just as the Elves at home in Ossiriand do.” That was true enough, for Dior had enchanted all whom he met so far in his young life. “They will be just as nervous as you at first, I imagine, so don't worry.” <em>Although it would not surprise me if both children are thrilled to meet another of their own kin, after spending months surrounded by the Doriathrim</em>.</p><p class="western">Dior nodded sagely, and Beren felt a pang of wistfulness: it must be nice, to be so trusting, so innocent, that your world was utterly safe and your parents' words were indisputable fact.</p><p class="western">Beren had not felt that way for a very long time.</p><p class="western">Lúthien slid her hand into his, meeting his eyes, wordlessly sending him comfort. <em>It will be well.</em> Her brow furrowed slightly. <em>Though I do wonder if we should have sent more warning of our arrival...</em></p><p class="western">Keeping one watchful eyes on Dior as he skipped ahead again, this time chasing a small blue jay that had hopped across their path, Beren gave her a wry look. <em>Do you truly think your mother is unaware of our journey, meleth nin?</em> Melian, in his experience, knew <em>everything</em> that went on around her. He could not imagine anything taking her by surprise.</p><p class="western">“True,” Lúthien sighed as she spoke aloud, albeit in a low tone. “But... some shadow plagues my mind when I try to see your young kin. I do not know what it portends.”</p><p class="western">Beren frowned. That did not sound good. “When you say a shadow, I assume it is not a literal one?”</p><p class="western">“No, it is as if some cloud of ill will or ill fate shrouds them. I was aware that they found a home in Doriath, in my Adar's keeping, but beyond that...”</p><p class="western">Hairs stood up on the back of Beren's neck and, unable to help himself, he glanced worriedly at Dior, who still ran and played, innocent and carefree.</p><p class="western">Lúthien followed his gaze and easily divined his thoughts. “I do not think the children <em>mean</em> harm in any way, it's just...” She shook her head. “It is too nebulous for me to pin down. Perhaps when we meet young Túrin and Urwen, it will become clearer.”</p><p class="western">“Perhaps.” Beren exhaled, willing his mind clear of dark thoughts. He would not disregard his wife's foreboding, but neither would he pass judgement on two children he had never met. Whatever it was that Lúthien sensed, it would be clearer once they reached Doriath in a day or two, and whatever it was could be dealt with.</p><p class="western">Darkness held great sway in Middle-Earth, it was true, but his own continued existence, and Lúthien's, served as proof that Evil was not omniscient or infallible. There was always hope. Despite the Enemy's shadow.</p><p class="western">Pressing a comforting kiss to Lúthien's hand, he then dropped it and crept quietly up behind Dior, who had knelt down to apparently have a conversation with the blue jay he had been chasing. The bird chirped and took flight upon seeing Beren, but Dior remained oblivious until Beren seized him and swung him up onto his shoulders, prompting excited giggling from the child (along with kicks to Beren's ribs as Dior 'steered' him as he might a horse) and silvery, musical laughter from Lúthien, even as she tried to look reproachful.</p><p class="western">Thoughts of formless shadows and the Enemy were cast aside as the small family continued their trek towards the distant but now visible eaves of Doriath, making the best time they could while the Sun still shone. Nightfall would force them to stop, for safety and so that Dior could rest, but for now, they would be cheerful, carefree parents, enjoying a pleasant trip with their little son.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just to clarify, I know that, in the Silmarillion, it is stated that Beren 'spoke never again with Mortal Man' after his adventures with Lúthien, but this is an AU, so... yeah. He's going to meet his cousins.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Lalaith walked slowly around the small sitting room she had been left in, keeping one hand firmly upon the wall, trying to memorize her surroundings as best she could. Túrin had been swept off by Lord Beleg again for another lesson in archery, but, Lalaith reflected, at least she was no longer constantly being told to stay in her own bedroom. Once she had been guided downstairs in the morning, she was permitted to wander the lower level of Menegroth- either with Túrin or alone, after repeated lectures on being extremely careful and not to attempt <em>any</em> staircases alone- until she was called for lunch, or for what few lessons she could still do: mainly being read to and repeating her tutor's words.</p><p class="western">Going out into the forest was still not permitted, whether Túrin and Nellas were there or not, (and both she and her brother had been scolded for attempting to sneak outdoors by themselves a week ago) but Lalaith hoped that with time, that freedom would be restored to her. Today, as her maid had led her to this room, Lalaith had heard a great deal of excited whispers all around her, and there was a general feeling of anticipation in the air, although no-one had told her what was afoot. Her lessons seemed to have been cancelled or simply forgotten, not that she truly minded- without the aid of sight, her lessons were utterly <em>dull</em>. More unusually, it seemed that King Thingol and Queen Melian had left Menegroth for Doriath's borders several hours ago. All that Lalaith had managed to overhear about that was something about 'visitors'. That one word, and Nellas' hint not long ago about a possible visit from Lord Beren, Princess Lúthien and their little son Dior made Lalaith's heart skip in excitement: would she and Túrin actually get to <em>meet</em> their famed cousin, and his wife, the Princess?</p><p class="western">A cluster of louder voices echoed towards Lalaith through the open door of the sitting room- one of King Thingol's rules for her moving around freely was that she never close the door of any room she was in- if anyone entered, they needed to know she was there at once. Straining her ears, and moving closer to the doorway, judging its location by the soft breeze and the voices becoming louder, Lalaith thought she could make out the King speaking with more cheer in his voice than she had yet heard, until his voice abruptly saddened, and Lalaith thought she heard her own names: Urwen, and then Lalaith, and then the Queen spoke, too low for Lalaith to hear. This was followed by two unfamiliar voices, a woman- or an elleth- whose voice sounded much like Queen Melian's, but more joyful, and, to Lalaith's utter shock, a male voice followed, speaking in <em>Taliska</em>, the language of Men spoken at home in Dor-Lomin, and that she had not heard from any save Túrin (and the late Grithnir) for months! She was so amazed to hear someone speaking her language here in Doriath that it took a second for the man's actual words to sink in, and then she frowned.</p><p class="western">'Not enough attention paid'? Whom hadn't paid enough attention to what? And why did this Man- Beren, she assumed- sound so angry about it?</p><p class="western">The elleth- Lúthien – then spoke, also in Taliska, murmuring something about an accident, and no-one being to blame.</p><p class="western">Oh! It dawned on Lalaith then. Perhaps King Thingol was explaining her accident to his daughter and law-son? She hoped, if that were so, that Lord Beren didn't mean that <em>she</em> had not paid enough attention, not checking her horse's tack properly before riding. It might be true, but she hadn't done it on purpose! She was considering going out into the hall to introduce herself, but as she moved forward, one hand on the wall, the other raised at waist height, feeling cautiously for obstructions in her path, the voices receded, and she had had to stop anyway, letting go of the wall and using both hands to gauge the dimensions of a chair, to avoid walking into it.</p><p class="western">“What you doing?” A cheerful, high pitched voice, coming from the doorway, asked. “Is it a game? Can I play too?”</p><p class="western">Lalaith froze, unsure. It <em>sounded</em> like a smaller child was speaking, a boy she thought, but she had no idea who this was, and he hadn't introduced himself- what if she wasn't meant to be talking to him? In all the time she had lived here, she had met no elf-children. Why would one seek her out now? “I...” She turned in the direction the child's voice had come from. “I'm just...” Just what? If this boy didn't know what 'blind' meant- he sounded very young- would he be upset if she explained?</p><p class="western">She was spared having to tell him anything, however, because the boy let out an excited squeal, little feet raced towards her, and the next thing she knew, two chubby arms were embracing her tightly.</p><p class="western">“You have round ears like my Ada! You're my cousin Urwen!”</p><p class="western">He sounded so happy, Lalaith couldn't help but grin and hug him back. “You're Dior, aren't you? Beren and Lúthien's son.”</p><p class="western">“Yes!” He hugged her tighter, then stepped back. “Your hair is yellow, like buttercups at home. I thought you'd have brown hair like Ada.”</p><p class="western">“Well... my Ada has yellow hair. I get it from him. My older brother Túrin has dark hair though.” Lalaith hesitated. “No-one calls me Urwen, by the way. I like to be called Lalaith.”</p><p class="western">Dior giggled. “Laughter? That's a funny name!”</p><p class="western">Lalaith shrugged. She heard Dior step back, away from her.</p><p class="western">“Why don't you look at me when I speak to you? Nana and Ada say it's rude not to make eye conpact. I mean contact!”</p><p class="western">She edged forward, towards Dior's voice, and knelt close to where she thought he was, holding out a hand. “I'm not being rude, it's just... I can't see.”</p><p class="western">“Why?” Dior sounded baffled, even as he took her hand. “It's not dark in here, and your eyes aren't closed.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith sighed. “How old are you, Dior?”</p><p class="western">“I'm four. And you're eight, Ada said.”</p><p class="western">“That's right.” Only four. How could she explain what happened to her to a child that young? “I can't see because my eyes... just don't work anymore.”</p><p class="western">“But why?”</p><p class="western">“I had an accident, and hurt my head, falling from my horse. After I woke up, I couldn't see anymore.”</p><p class="western">He threw his arms around her again, hugging her tightly and petting her hair. “That's so sad! When will the healers make you better?” Dior's utterly confident question made Lalaith's eyes sting. She had to swallow hard before answering.</p><p class="western">“They won't. They already tried. They can't.”</p><p class="western">“But... then... you'll <em>never</em> see again?” Dior sounded thoroughly confused- and miserable.</p><p class="western">To Lalaith's relief, she was spared from having to answer by the sound of heavy footsteps: far heavier than any Elf.</p><p class="western">“Dior! Where are you? You were <em>just</em> told not to go running off!” Beren's voice, speaking in the Common Tongue now, echoed towards them.</p><p class="western">“In here, Ada!” Dior piped up, his voice loud, if not as joyful as it had been mere minutes ago. It almost sounded like he was trying not to cry, and Lalaith tensed: she hadn't meant to upset him!</p><p class="western">Beren's footsteps became louder, and Lalaith could clearly hear his stepping into the room and pausing in the doorway. She could feel his eyes on her now. What would he be making of this: Lalaith kneeling on the floor, his son almost in tears in front of her?</p><p class="western">She stood up awkwardly, turning to face the doorway and raising her head so it appeared she was looking up, hopefully towards Beren's face, and started to stammer an apology. “I-I'm sorry, I didn't- Dior just came in, and I only answered his questions, but-”</p><p class="western">“Ada, Urwen- Lalaith says she got hurt and she can't ever see again! Can't you or Nana make her better?” A sob punctuated his words and Lalaith winced as she heard Dior scramble to his feet and run past her. There was some movement, and she guessed that Beren had picked Dior up, because she could just make out him whispering gently, and soon Dior's tears quieted.</p><p class="western">A few minutes later, Dior's voice piped up again. “I'm sorry if I upset you, Lalaith.” He was speaking carefully; probably repeating what he'd been told to say. “I just gotted- got sad that you can't see any more.”</p><p class="western">Following his voice, she edged forward carefully, feeling far less safe without using her hands to guide her, but eventually, she got close enough (hopefully) and held her hand out again. “I'm not upset, Dior. Well, I was, but only because I don't want to see you crying. I like people to be happy.”</p><p class="western">Dior took her hand and squeezed it, and Beren cleared his throat noisily. “You're a very brave girl, Urwe- Lalaith.” His voice cracked with some emotion, and Lalaith shrugged, feeling her face redden. She didn't think she was <em>that</em> brave: anyone who went blind would just find ways to cope, wouldn't they?</p><p class="western">She felt eyes gazing on her for a long moment. Amazement tinged Beren's next words, and these <em>did</em> bring tears to Lalaith's eyes. “You look just like your father.”</p><p class="western">“I-I didn't know you knew him...” Lalaith was stunned- Father had never mentioned <em>knowing</em> Beren, in all the tales he'd told of him and Lúthien! Mother had known him briefly, in her childhood, she knew <em>that</em>, but Father... why hadn't he told them?</p><p class="western">Beren let out a low chuckle. “Oh, believe me, there are some amusing tales I could tell you of Húrin when he was young, and we scouted together, if you'd like to hear them.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith stifled a giggle at the idea. “I'd like that- but my brother should hear them too, when he returns from his archery lesson. If you wouldn't mind telling him too.” She didn't want to presume too much.</p><p class="western">“Of course!” Beren made it sound as if this was already obvious, and then she felt his hand supporting her arm, guiding her from the room with far more skill than the Elves who helped her ever showed: perhaps Beren had known blind people before, whereas the Elves of Doriath had not? “But for now, I think we should take my young rascal of a son back to his naneth, so he can apologize to her for running off,” here Dior giggled and Lalaith could only assume Beren was teasing him somehow, “And I will introduce you to Lúthien, then we can all go and track down Beleg and your brother, if you like. His name is Túrin, isn't it?”</p><p class="western">Lalaith was nodding fervently before he even finished speaking. Another chance to go outside into the forest, when (she hoped) King Thingol could find no grounds to refuse, as she would not be alone, nor only with Túrin? She would have to be mad to turn it down!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Taliska is a genuine language in Tolkien's canon, though it is only mentioned in the History of Middle-Earth series, it was the language of both the House of Beor and the House of Hador. In The History of Middle Earth: The Peoples of Middle Earth, it is stated that Beren taught Taliska- his language- to Luthien, and as Turin and Lalaith are descended from the House of Beor and the House of Hador, through Morwen and Hurin, it makes sense (to me) that Taliska might also be a language they know well, if it isn't in fact their first language.</p><p>Beren knowing Hurin is also canon, stated in the Silmarillion, albeit vaguely: 'Beren son of Barahir was her (Morwen's) father's kinsman, and he had been moreover a friend of Hurin, ere evil befell.'</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Túrin took several gulps from the waterskin Beleg had handed him, then, as he was still overly warm, his face drenched in sweat, lifted it and let some of the cool water douse his face, sighing in relief, ignoring Beleg's chuckling at him. So what if he had done something a bit childish? It was hot! Once his mouth was less parched, allowing him to speak, he looked up at Beleg quizzically, finally asking what he'd been wondering about for a few days. “Nellas told Lalaith and I that Princess Lúthien and her family may be coming to visit Doriath soon?” He, in all honesty, was more curious about Lord Beren, his own cousin, but it would not do to place his name before that of his wife, not when she was the Princess of this realm.</p><p class="western">Beleg chuckled, as if he guessed the true intent behind Túrin's words, but nodded. “They passed the Girdle yesterday evening, so it is likely they are in Menegroth by now.”</p><p class="western">“Do you think- will Lalaith and I be introduced to them?” Túrin did not want to presume too much, but the possibility of meeting his mother's kinsman, whose deeds were fast passing into legend, thrilled him. Not to mention, the possibility of meeting another Mortal... as fond as he had become of most of the Elves of Doriath, they weren't his own kind.</p><p class="western">“I will be very surprised if Lord Beren does not insist on meeting you, and Lalaith.” Beleg's tone was dryly amused, but there was an undertone to his words that Túrin did not understand, and he looked up at his friend and mentor, puzzled.</p><p class="western">“Why?”</p><p class="western">Beleg hesitated. “It's... complicated.”</p><p class="western">Túrin scowled: he <em>hated</em> people, usually adults, saying that, as it meant they thought you were too young to understand so they wouldn't explain themselves.</p><p class="western">Footsteps and voices sounded, startling Túrin (though Beleg merely turned towards the sound, a small smile on his face- he had probably known people were approaching them.) Twigs snapped and a very small boy came hurtling into the clearing, straight towards Túrin.</p><p class="western">The child looked positively angelic: baby-like curls of ebony hair, intense blue eyes that took up far too much of his face, plump rosy cheeks and a sweet smile. His ears were... odd. Not quite elven-pointed, but not round like Men's ears either.</p><p class="western">Túrin was still scowling from Beleg's words, not having had time to wipe the look from his face, when the strange boy flung his arms around him as if Túrin were his long-lost best friend.</p><p class="western">“Cousin Túrin!” The boy still spoke with a tiny lisp, like Lalaith had when she'd been that small, and he clung to Túrin like a burr.</p><p class="western">Bemused, Túrin half-heartedly returned the embrace, though he felt uncomfortable: he usually only let Lalaith get this close. The boy's naming him cousin made it fairly obvious who he was though, and Túrin edged backwards, away from him, nodding a greeting. “Cousin Dior.” He attempted a smile, despite Beleg's chuckling behind them making him want to scowl once again.</p><p class="western">“Yes!” Dior flung himself at him again (he certainly liked hugging others!) and Túrin was again trying to free himself from the now giggling Dior when a beautiful, lilting voice called Dior's name. The sound entranced Túrin so much that he forgot about prying Dior off him, and stood still as a statue, the child still clinging to him, when three others stepped into the clearing: a tall elleth who bore a strong resemblance to young Dior (this had to be Princess Lúthien) a brown haired and bearded Man, some inches shorter than her, with his right wrist ending in a stump (clearly Beren, although Túrin tried his hardest not to stare at him), and, arm in arm with Beren, being guided by him and apparently at perfect ease in this situation, was Lalaith. </p><p class="western">Túrin stared at his sister, hurt stabbing through him, although he refused to let it show: <em>he</em> was her closest confidant, he always had been! It stung him to see Lalaith so much at ease, talking and laughing happily with Beren and Lúthien, more cheerful than she had really been since her accident, not even paying him any attention, and he clenched his teeth. <em>He</em> should be the one taking care of Lalaith and cheering her up, no-one else had that right!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this chapter is so short, I found this really difficult to write. Any suggestions for what happens next are welcome!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">"Brother, do you know what this ceremony is for? It feels like nothing is happening," Lalaith complained. She wasn't sure Túrin would even reply: he had been in an ill temper ever since she had brought Beren, Lúthien and Dior to meet him, though he refused to explain why. He had not spoken to their kin any more than he absolutely had to, and although it did not seem like they had taken offence- they had not said anything- Lalaith was embarrassed. For all she knew, they could have been giving Túrin annoyed looks all the while and she would have been none the wiser. They had spent some time outdoors, with Beleg and Beren giving Túrin tips on sword-play while Lúthien and Lalaith entertained Dior. Dull though this was for Lalaith, at least it meant Túrin relaxed a little around Beren: at one point, she had even heard him laughing. It had come to an end when Dior had begun fussing to join in with the sword-training, and they had all returned indoors, this time with Túrin supporting Lalaith. As they walked, Beren had asked Beleg why no cane had been made for Lalaith, to aid her in walking, and Beleg had only sounded puzzled, clearly having no idea what Beren meant.</p><p class="western">Túrin had, somewhat sullenly, muttered that he had spoken of it to Thingol, but the King didn't know anything of such canes either. Beren had uttered something in response that Lalaith had not caught, but then they had re-entered the city and Lalaith had been hurried to her room, and Túrin shooed to his, to be readied for a welcoming ceremony for Lúthien, Beren and Dior. This had been a total surprise and Lalaith thought that she was being readied in a great hurry, and herded to the Great Hall almost immediately. She had been left at her brother's side, and there she still stood. People were talking and moving around them, but little else seemed to be happening, hence the complaint she had made to Túrin moments ago.</p><p class="western">Túrin let out a heavy sigh. “I'm not sure, Lalaith. The King is speaking to his councillors, on the dais near his throne, and it seems all the court are entering the hall, but I don't know why.”</p><p class="western">Lalaith wished <em>something</em> would happen: simply standing around this way, with no-one explaining what was going on, was incredibly boring. “Will you tell me if anything happens that I can't hear?”</p><p class="western">“Of course.” Túrin slipped his hand into hers, and she squeezed it tightly, grateful that his bad mood seemed to have passed, at least. “Oh, the King is disagreeing with Saeros now, it seems. Saeros is shaking his head and gesturing a lot, and Thingol just looks cross.”</p><p class="western">“Could we get closer to hear what they're saying?” Lalaith wouldn't normally eavesdrop, but it wasn't as if they had anything else to do and they hadn't been told not to approach the royals.</p><p class="western">Túrin laughed suddenly, drowning out her words. “I think Thingol just sent Saeros away: he just marched away frowning!”</p><p class="western">Lalaith swatted at his arm. “You shouldn't laugh at adults, Túrin! What if it was you in trouble, would you want to be laughed at?”</p><p class="western">“No... but you have to admit, Saeros deserves it, he can be really rude somet- Lord Saeros!” Túrin jumped slightly, involuntarily tugging on Lalaith's arm as he turned around. “Can we help you?”</p><p class="western">Lalaith, by now, had learned to tell when someone was standing in front of her: she could almost feel their shadow when it fell over her, or so it seemed, and she could hear breathing, of course. Right now, Saeros' breathing was annoyed: short heavy pants, like he was holding back anger.</p><p class="western">“The King wishes you and your sister to join him and the other members of the family upon the dais while he makes an announcement.” Saeros almost spat the words, then Túrin's hand was yanked from Lalaith's, making her stumble. Left alone, she could hear Saeros' footsteps retreating, and realized he must have tugged Túrin along with him.</p><p class="western">“Hurry up, girl!” Saeros' voice called from somewhere in front of her. It almost sounded like he was mocking her, but Lalaith decided she must have imagined that. Although why Saeros would think to lead Túrin and not her... had he forgotten that it was her, not her brother, that could not see? Still, she had to follow. Somehow. Keeping her feet flat on the ground, shuffling instead of stepping, she extended her hands at waist level, feeling for anything in her path, listening as hard as she could to everything around her, trying to follow where she thought Saeros had gone.</p><p class="western">She had only made it a few shuffling steps when a hand rested lightly on her shoulder, and she stopped. The faint scent of niphredil and jasmine reached her, allowing her to turn in the direction of whoever had stopped her.</p><p class="western">“Why are you walking by yourself without help, Lalaith?”</p><p class="western">Recognizing Lúthien's voice, Lalaith attempted to sound relaxed and unworried: she didn't want to cause a problem for Saeros if he genuinely had confused her and Túrin regarding which of them was blind. “Oh, Lord Saeros came to escort Túrin and I to the dais, but I... fell behind, and he forgot to wait for me.”</p><p class="western">“Mm-hmm.” Lúthien did not sound fully convinced. “Well, no matter. I see them ahead of us, so come. We will catch up.” Her hand remained on Lalaith's shoulder, guiding her forward, or not, as needed, as she called out. “Lord Saeros! It seems you have mislaid one of your charges.”</p><p class="western">“I- oh, Your Highness, I did not realize-” There was some movement, though Lalaith had no idea what was happening. “Túrin, honestly, why did you not tell me your poor sister had fallen behind us? Do you care nothing for aiding her in her weakness?” Saeros' voice was full of rebuke.</p><p class="western">“I did tell you!” Túrin protested, his voice rising. “You didn't listen to me!”</p><p class="western">“Do not lie to your elders just to make yourself look better, you-”</p><p class="western">“That will be all, Saeros.” Lúthien's voice had hardened considerably. “I will see my foster-siblings to my parents. You may go.”</p><p class="western">“Your Highness, I assure you, I-”</p><p class="western">“You are excused.”</p><p class="western">Footsteps receded, and then Túrin's familiar arm slipped round hers. “Are you alright, Lalaith? Saeros just pulled me away- oh, uh, thank you, your Highness.”</p><p class="western">So Lalaith presumed Lúthien was still watching them.</p><p class="western">“It is fine. Saeros can be... difficult, especially around children. But you need not address me by any title, Túrin. We are foster-siblings and kin through marriage, after all.”</p><p class="western">Túrin mumbled assent, but Lalaith smiled broadly. “Thank you, my L- uh, Lúthien.“ She giggled at her own mistake and Lúthien's silver bell-like laughter accompanied her, as she led both children forward. She and Túrin both warned Lalaith when they reached the dais' steps, and, speaking in Taliska, the language of the Houses of Bëor and Hador, to the surprise of both children, Lúthien called Beren to lift Lalaith up, as if she feared Lalaith could not manage the few steps.</p><p class="western">Beren must have simply shaken his head, or responded with a look, because he did not do as his wife had asked. Instead, Lúthien, sounding rather unsure, spoke softly. “Can you manage the steps alone, Lalaith?”</p><p class="western">“I can if Túrin guides me.” Lalaith responded easily, confident enough in that: the dais' steps were something she had not attempted yet, and of a different height to the stairs she had learned to manage, but with guidance, she could do it.</p><p class="western">“If you're sure...” Lúthien's light footsteps went ahead of them, and Túrin guided Lalaith to the steps, standing close at her side so he could whisper when to step up and how many steps there were. In minutes, they were standing upon the dais and Túrin led her to greet Thingol and Melian. Thingol instructed them to stand to Melian's left, while, so far as Lalaith could tell, Lúthien went to join Beren (and presumably Dior, as she heard Beren hushing someone) on the king's right.</p><p class="western">The soft music that had been playing ceased abruptly, and the dais creaked slightly in the silence. Lalaith strained her ears: had Thingol stepped forward to address the crowd, or was something else going on? "My people!" Thingol called out, loud enough for all to hear, his tone joyous. “I welcome you all to the celebration of my daughter and law-son's visit to Doriath, and the official presentation of their son, Dior!”</p><p class="western">There was some movement, and shuffling; then people began to cheer and clap.</p><p class="western">“Thingol has lifted Dior so the people can see him.” Túrin whispered in Lalaith's ear.</p><p class="western">“As you all know, my daughter and her husband have endured grave peril and achieved great deeds during their, shall we say, unorthodox courtship. It warms my heart to see them blessed with their own child, my own beloved grandson. And so, I decree today, before you all, that he shall hence be known as Dior Eluchil, my own heir, and heir to this kingdom of Doriath!”</p><p class="western">There was a squeal of laughter from Dior, and again Túrin whispered to Lalaith. “Dior is sitting on Thingol's shoulders now. He seems thrilled!”</p><p class="western">The hall erupted into cheers and joyful shouts, many people proclaiming Dior's name and new title in jubilation, loud enough to deafen, or so it seemed to Lalaith. Amidst the din, she thought she could hear low muttering somewhere to her right. She thought she heard 'not what we wanted' and frowned slightly: were Beren and Lúthien <em>complaining</em> about this? Why?</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Túrin was still puzzled over why Lúthien and Beren had looked so annoyed about Thingol's naming Dior his heir. Túrin himself had been heir to the House of Hador his whole life, he could not understand why being named heir to a much greater realm- Doriath itself- was a bad thing. Unless it was simply that, in a realm like Doriath, a realm of peace, King Thingol was unlikely to come to harm, and so Dior should never need to take the throne? But even that did not explain the disgruntled look on Lúthien's face, and the flash of true anger he had seen on Beren's when Thingol had made his announcement. They hid it well, though, and had thanked Thingol courteously enough before the court, leaving the King oblivious to the fact that they were not best pleased. Queen Melian, however, had watched them shrewdly, Túrin noticed, and he had also seen that Beren kept Dior close, not letting him get too drawn into the attentions of the courtiers and nobles. The feast had continued more or less normally after that: in other words, from Túrin's perspective, it was far too long, dull, and he was eager to depart long before he and Lalaith were dismissed, to return to their rooms for sleep.</p><p class="western">Not before time, too, as Lalaith was yawning, and Túrin, although he would not admit it, was so tired he could have fallen asleep in his chair. By that time, Dior was actually sound asleep in his mother's lap, and Lúthien volunteered to see all three children to their rooms. Beren asked leave to accompany them all, and, weary as he was, Túrin did not miss the tension in his voice as he addressed his law-father formally.</p><p class="western">All were given leave to go, and amid calls of goodnight, Túrin guided Lalaith from the feasting hall, but when, normally, he would have aided her up the stairs, holding her arm and both taking one stair at a time, this time he did not get the chance. To his shock, Beren grinned, and, asking Lalaith's permission, swept her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs as if she weighed no more than Dior, who was still deeply asleep in Lúthien's arms.</p><p class="western">Túrin tried not to pout or sulk about this: Lalaith was laughing at her new method of ascending the stairs, and it wasn't as if Beren lived here, he'd be needed to help Lalaith again within a few days, but it still irritated him to see someone else carrying out the role that <em>he</em> should be performing for his little sister.</p><p class="western">However, when they reached Lalaith's room, it was Lúthien who slipped in to help Lalaith, and to Túrin's surprise, Beren followed him into his own room (Dior now draped over his shoulder, sound asleep.) He stared at the older Man, not entirely trying to hide his consternation, attempting to raise an eyebrow the way he'd seen Beleg do on occasion.</p><p class="western">“Did you need something... cousin?” It felt odd to say that, but it's what Beren was to him, after all.</p><p class="western">Beren smiled warmly. “I just wanted to ask how you- and your sister- are enjoying life here in Doriath. I imagine it must be very different to what you're used to, even without your sister's... misfortune.”</p><p class="western">Túrin was not sure how to respond to this: life was very different in Doriath, and strange at times, and of course he missed home, but surely it was not proper to say so, especially not to the King's son-in-law? “We are grateful for the King's taking us in, and we are doing well enough,” he hedged, his eyes scrutinizing Beren's face, trying to work out what Beren wanted him to say.</p><p class="western">Beren nodded slowly, shifting Dior's sleeping form so the smaller child was held more securely as he sat on Túrin's bed. “I know I felt overwhelmed and out of place when I first came here, and I wasn't always treated kindly. It helped, though, that I had someone to confide in.”</p><p class="western">“Lúthien.” Túrin shrugged, not sure what Beren's point was. “But I can talk to my sister if I need to, or Nellas, or Beleg.” If Beren expected Túrin to start speaking of his feelings about life in Doriath to him, he was mistaken- he hardly knew his kinsman, and was not going to reveal anything of how he felt to a stranger!</p><p class="western">His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Beren let out a sigh, shaking his head ruefully. “You are a great deal like your mother, you know: Morwen always wanted to cope with everything by herself as well. She never liked accepting help.”</p><p class="western">Túrin didn't want to react, to seem eager to talk about his mother, but, apart from him and Lalaith, no-one really spoke about her, and Mother herself had never told them anything of her own childhood- he had not even known, until meeting Beren, that he and Morwen had been acquainted at all! So he took a seat beside Beren, and asked, almost shyly, “Would you tell me about when you knew my mother? I do not get to speak of her a lot, here...”</p><p class="western">Beren's smile became warmer and he began relating a funny tale of Morwen in her youth, pleased to see young Túrin beginning to relax and even smile: like his mother, the boy was very serious, not given to gaiety or laughter. However, he did begin to relate some tales of his home in Dor-Lomin, and the topic came around to the friends Túrin had had there, and then, with the mention of the kind, lamed woodwright Sador, and the house-servant Ragnir, who was blind, Beren saw a chance to query something that had struck him as odd about Lalaith. He did not quite like to ask Thingol, for fear of seeming to make demands of the King (even if he was not best pleased with his law-father at present, naming Dior his heir without even consulting Dior's own parents!) but nonetheless, it was odd that Lalaith was left to struggle with her blindness, with no aids provided for her. Asking Túrin about this, casually, was the best way to find out why she had not been given help.</p><p class="western">“Túrin, why does your sister not have a cane or staff to use for support and guidance while she walks around? I have noticed she only uses her hands to feel her way, but you told me that your family's servant back at home used a cane- does Lalaith not like using such things?”</p><p class="western">Túrin frowned. “She would, but when I tried to ask the King for one, to make life easier for her, it was as if he didn't know what I meant. I mentioned it to Beleg, but he didn't understand either.”</p><p class="western">Now Beren was astounded. He knew that the Eldar were harder to injure than the Edain, and that they recovered from things that would be crippling or fatal to Men, but for them to not <em>know</em> of such a simple thing as a thin cane to guide a blind person... How could that be? He resolved to look into this further, because it was not fair to young Lalaith to have her movements limited simply because no-one knew what aids to create for her... Nonsense, in his opinion. And if the 'great and wise' Elves of Doriath ended up learning something from one of the Edain that many of them still looked down on, so much the better, as far as he was concerned!</p><hr/><p class="western">“Are you sure you don't need my help with that?”</p><p class="western">Lalaith was glad she had her back turned to Lúthien at the moment: this was the third time the princess had asked that question, beginning with if Lalaith needed help unbraiding her hair (which, to be fair, she had), then if she needed any help undressing and readying herself for sleep, (she hadn't, but Lúthien had fussed and hovered, doing every single thing for her anyway, even small things like putting her shoes at the foot of her bed) and now, after having insisted on 'helping' Lalaith find her way to her dresser from the bed (all of five or six steps away) she had hesitated before even letting Lalaith brush her own hair. (And fine, it was usually faster if someone helped her brush out her golden curly hair, but tonight, a bit irritated by Lúthien acting as if she was completely helpless, Lalaith was determined to manage it alone.)</p><p class="western">“No, really, I'm fine.” Lalaith tried to sound cheerful, and not at all as if she found Lúthien annoying: she knew that the Elf meant well, after all. “It's very kind of you to offer to help me though.” She decided to try to explain a little more. “I've been learning to take care of myself, slowly, ever since my accident. There are some things I can't do anymore, of course, but the first thing I did was memorize my way around my room, and where things are kept.”</p><p class="western">“I... I cannot imagine... how you could have done that.” Lúthien's voice sounded almost awed. “To try to get by without sight...”</p><p class="western">Lalaith now shrugged, feeling her cheeks redden. “You just learn to do it, because you have to. I'm sure any Elf who lost their sight would tell you the same-” She stopped abruptly as something occurred to her. “Haven't you ever met a blind person before?” She turned to face where Lúthien's voice had been coming from.</p><p class="western">“No, it's... such things very rarely happen among Elves. I apologize if I seem... I am not really sure how to act, and given that your... injury occurred while you were in my Adar's- er, father's care, I admit I worry a great deal about further harm befalling you. To me, you seem so vulnerable now...” She was silent for a moment. “I do not know, in all honesty, if I could muster the will and courage to live if my life were to change as drastically as yours has. And you're just a child...”</p><p class="western">Lalaith's jaw nearly dropped open. “Wait, so <em>no</em> Elves ever deal with going blind? That's...” Absurd, she wanted to say, but, really, Elves were much stronger than Mortals, so was it truly so strange that they never had to deal with things that Men viewed as commonplace? If that was so, she thought, no wonder the Elves of Doriath, the King among them, had no idea how to treat her now! It didn't make their constant coddling and protectiveness of her less annoying, but it did explain it. They just didn't know how to react to her.</p><p class="western">Well, maybe, starting with Lúthien, she could begin to teach them a little more about what blind people could and couldn't do. Smiling at the thought, she reached behind herself without turning around, running her hand along the dresser until she felt the hairbrush beneath her fingers, fidgeted until she had grasped the handle (and maybe she was showing off a little just how much she could do, but what did it matter?) and held the brush out to Lúthien. Her next words were a bit sheepish, accompanied by a giggle. “If you wouldn't mind, I know I said I don't need help brushing my hair, but if I do it myself, my maid complains, she says it resembles a rat's nest!”</p><p class="western">She heard Lúthien tut in disapproval as she took the brush from Lalaith, and gently began running it through her hair. “You should not be spoken to in such a way. You- and your brother- are my father's fosterlings, deserving of respect, and anyway, it isn't as if you can s-” She stopped suddenly, but Lalaith laughed, finishing the sentence for her.</p><p class="western">“It's not as if I can see what my hair looks like!”</p><p class="western">After a startled pause, Lúthien joined in the laughter, and the tension in the room eased. Lalaith felt satisfied: this was the kind of thing she wanted, friendship and teasing relating to her blindness, instead of people either pitying her and tiptoeing around the subject, as if she somehow didn't <em>know</em> she was blind, or ignoring it as if it would not be true if it wasn't acknowledged.</p><p class="western">Lúthien seemed to understand her a little more now, at least. Perhaps now, Lalaith could begin to convince the other Elves here to consider her thoughts and feelings, not their own discomfort when they had to spend time with her. She was just an Edain girl with a challenge to overcome, not some weak thing to be pitied and whispered about!</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">Túrin jerked awake with an 'Oof!' as something small catapulted itself onto his bed, landing squarely on his stomach. Once he'd blinked the blurriness of sleep from his eyes, the giggling figure became recognizable and he sighed.</p><p class="western">“Morning, Cousin!” Dior piped happily.</p><p class="western">Túrin glanced towards his window, saw that it was barely past dawn, and groaned, pulling his pillow over his face. “Dior, it's early. Go back to sleep.”</p><p class="western">Thingol's unexpected announcement, proclaiming Dior his heir, had turned Beren and Lúthien's brief visit into one that had lasted several weeks. Túrin truly didn't mind- he rarely showed it but he'd grown fond of Beren, for the Man reminded him of Húrin in some ways, and hearing Taliska, his native language, spoken (and having it understood by <em>someone</em>) was a great comfort to Túrin - but Dior's boundless energy and frequent requests that Túrin teach him to fight, were exhausting.</p><p class="western">Especially when the four-year-old got it into his mind that because he was awake, his self-proclaimed 'best friend' should be too.</p><p class="western">“I can't.” Dior flopped back dramatically, lying beside Túrin on his bed. “It's morning. The sun's up, so I'm up.”</p><p class="western">Túrin deliberately began pretending to snore, hoping that Dior would leave if he thought he'd gone back to sleep. It had worked the last time Dior had tried this. There was some scrambling movement, and Túrin hid a grin: hopefully Dior would give up and come seek him later, at a more reasonable hour.</p><p class="western">“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” The bed shook with an impact every time the musical voice trilled and Túrin muttered a word he'd overheard from Beleg (that he wasn't meant to use) as he realized that, far from leaving, Dior was now jumping on his bed to wake him.</p><p class="western">The bouncing ceased- only to be replaced by hands tugging at the bedcovers. “Come on, I want to go outside today!”</p><p class="western">Túrin gave up on feigning sleep and tossed the pillow to one side- partly on top of Dior. Completely by mistake, of course. “Your parents can't take you because...?”</p><p class="western">Dior pouted. “They're still sleeping.”</p><p class="western">“Lucky them.” Túrin muttered, already resigned to getting up early- getting rid of Dior was impossible, and, really, he always felt terrible if he upset his baby cousin.</p><p class="western">“Come on, please?” Dior wheedled, his big blue-silver eyes wide and earnest. “We can go practice sword-play again!”</p><p class="western">Dior's idea of 'sword-play' was actually just him and Túrin mock-sparring with small tree branches, since for obvious reasons four-year-old Dior was not yet allowed even a wooden training sword, but he loved 'sparring', even though he had no idea that Túrin, six years his senior, always let him win.</p><p class="western">Túrin sighed and conceded this battle. “Fine, but we're staying inside Menegroth. No going outside alone at this hour. And only until breakfast. And <em>only</em> if you can go and get some shoes and a cloak on without waking your parents up.”</p><p class="western">“Yay!” Dior gave Túrin one of his crushing hugs, before springing off the bed and darting away.</p><p class="western">It did cross Túrin's mind that he could simply bolt his door and go back to sleep now, but the mental image of Dior crying stung too much. Stretching and yawning, he swung his legs out of bed and stumbled in the dim light of dawn to get dressed.</p><p class="western">A short time later, Dior was clinging to Túrin's hand, tugging him along as they headed to the small indoor training salle used by the warriors when the weather was too harsh to be outdoors. He was chattering away as usual, ignoring Túrin's frequent 'Sshs!'. It was a miracle that they got to the training salle without waking anyone else, but get there they did, and Túrin immediately fetched two thin pieces of wood (that were destined to be fletched and become arrows) to serve as their 'blades'. He couldn't help but grin at Dior's pride and excitement as they entered one of the sparring rings and began 'battling'.</p><hr/><p class="western">Beren started awake, the stump of his missing right hand burning with venom, the nightmare of the malicious, cruel eyes of the Wolf, and the echoes of the hordes of Angband approaching still clear in his mind. It took several minutes for him to recall where he was- in their rooms in Menegroth, with Lúthien safe and still sleeping beside him.</p><p class="western">A nightmare. That was all it was. A distorted recollection of something that was now in the past. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply, until his heart slowed down. Thankfully, Lúthien had not stirred: so often, she had nightmares of her own concerning that time. He had no wish to burden her with his. Out of habit, he glanced towards the door that separated Dior's bedchamber from theirs. It wasn't ajar as they had left it, but wide open.</p><p class="western">Stifling a sigh, Beren slid from bed as silently as he could, already preparing (again) to remind Dior to stay in bed until his parents had at least woken up.</p><p class="western">However, Dior was not in his room, or hiding somewhere in theirs. Had this happened at home in Ossiriand, it would have been cause for alarm. Here in Menegroth, though, Beren had at least two good ideas for where his mischievous little son could be: Dior had grown very fond of his 'grown up' cousins, so odds were he was with one of them, despite the early hour. Dressing quickly, and collecting the almost-finished cane he was carving for Lalaith, determined to finish it before the girl rose this morning, (he'd set about carving it himself since none of the Elves here seemed to comprehend what he wanted to make, or to understand that it could help her at all) he headed to Túrin's room first.</p><p class="western">It too was empty, so Dior must have talked him into going somewhere. Beren paused at Lalaith's door, but hearing nothing to suggest that Túrin and Dior were there, moved on.</p><p class="western">Túrin was a sensible boy, mature for his age, moreso when he believed himself 'in charge' of his sister or Dior, so it wasn't likely that he and Dior would have left the city. As for where they were... Beren grinned wryly as the answer dawned on him. Túrin, like many boys, did enjoy sparring and such things, and of course Dior loved any new 'game'. He made his way to the indoor training salle without hesitation, the clash of sticks and his son's familiar laughter confirming he was in the right place, long before he saw the 'warriors'.</p><p class="western">He settled down to watch, stifling his own laughter, relieved to see that Túrin, as well as Dior, was laughing during this 'match'. His young cousin was often very serious, trying to be an adult before his time. It warmed Beren's heart to see him acting like the child he truly was for once.</p><p class="western">He kept half an eye on the boys while he slowly, laboriously, carried out the last carving to shape Lalaith's new cane. Her life would have so much more freedom once she could walk with more confidence, and he couldn't wait to see her expression (and Túrin's) when he gave her the cane that blind Edain typically used, something that both siblings seemed to have given up on asking the Elves for.</p><p class="western">The boys' voices and laughter as they played were comforting, reminding Beren of his long-ago childhood, and as he worked, he sent a silent prayer to the Valar, that these two children (and Lalaith) could lead happier lives than he had. He would change nothing in his life now, of course, he had more than he'd ever dreamed of, but the path he'd trod to reach this point... it had been far from easy, or gentle. He bore scars, physical and mental, that would never heal. His son, and his cousins, deserved better than that. He hoped with all his heart that they would receive it.</p>
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